


Eternity is our friend, remember that

by Interpolations



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Princess Bride Fusion, Fairy Tale Elements, Grief/Mourning, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, I don't think you have to have seen Princess Bride to enjoy this, I've tried to only tag the significant characters and relationships, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, Multi, Romance, but it's an enjoyable movie so I'd recommend it, but pretty much everyone is in this fic, except that I sort of pulled a Humperdink and cranked the (emotional) torture up to 50, look it's Princess Bride you know what you're getting here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:28:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26882188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Interpolations/pseuds/Interpolations
Summary: Long ago, in a kingdom no one quite remembers, two boys grew up and fell in love. And then two young ladies grew close and fell in love. And then they all lived happily ever after.Between all that, though, lots of things got mixed up and lots of people got very confused, which resulted in a ridiculous amount of lying and fighting and fencing and explosions and kidnappings and reunions and kissing and miracles. But after that things were more or less fine.Or: a Princess Bride AU
Relationships: Albert DaSilva & Racetrack Higgins, Crutchie & Sarah Jacobs (Newsies), David Jacobs/Jack Kelly, Jack Kelly & Jacobs Family, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Sarah Jacobs & Jack Kelly, Sarah Jacobs/Katherine Plumber Pulitzer
Comments: 52
Kudos: 32





	1. The Delivery Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Title is a quote from (what else) William Goldman’s _The Princess Bride_ (1973)
> 
> This is based on a blend of the book and the movie and then further adapted to suit my whims.
> 
> I’m experimenting with writing in a different style and with writing fics that aren’t 150+ words long. Based on this first chapter, I am off to a good start with one of these things.

There are an infinite number of things in the universe. Out of all of these things only seventeen of them are certain. Thankfully, one thing that is certain is love—its existence, the fulfillment it provides to those who hold it dear, and its stubborn desire to take root despite the constant attempts to quash it. Unfortunately, another is uncertainty. Uncertainty is the most certain thing in the universe.

Being two of very few certain things, love and uncertainty often keep each other company. They like to go hand-in-hand, travelling the world, poking their heads into affairs which should not concern them, and generally complicating the lives of good people who are minding their own business.

Every good story begins as such. And this is a very good story.

A long time ago there were two boys. Both of these boys were generally good boys and often very good boys. These two boys caught love and uncertainty’s interest. The boys did not know this, of course, because 1. love and uncertainty are universal concepts and thus rather hard to see, to the point that even when you are in the middle of experiencing them you may not be able to identify them, and 2. the boys were busy minding their own business. Love and uncertainty looked upon the two of them and decided to do what they do best: wreak havoc.

..........

The Great Kingdom—its name lost to time and to no one really caring what it had been called—was the largest kingdom in the land. Despite its size, everything enclosed within its boundaries fell into three categories; quaint countryside locales, improbably dangerous natural formations, and a grand city.

Admittedly, the last one wasn’t really a category.

The city was built in the highest region in the kingdom. Within the city was the castle, which was built on the highest hill in the highest region of the kingdom. This was, of course, purposeful. Such a location allowed the monarchs to look upon their subjects and feel important. It also ensured that their subjects constantly had to look upon the symbol of the monarchy’s power and feel very small.

There are always exceptions to rules, though, and there are always things that are overlooked. In this case, the exception was a village and the overlooked were its villagers. This village was so far away from the city that the villagers couldn’t even see the tips of the castle’s turrets over the horizon. It took an hour’s walk south and a steep climb up the tallest hill to even see the flag poles. The village was as far away from the city as one could get while still being subjected to the King’s taxes.

Instead, the villagers looked upon their surroundings. There was a clear stream to the east that never ran dry. A forest bordered them on the north and the west sides and it was well-populated with animals. The south stretched out in sprawling hills and valleys and fields as far as the eye could see.

And, aside from the isolation, it was like any other village in the kingdom. People woke up, went to work, and then went home and went to bed. People said hello to one another when they passed. There were celebrations. There were quarrels. There were petty squabbles about great aunts nicking shortbread recipes and fences that weren’t on the property line. There were heartbreaks—sweethearts had been jilted, weddings had been called off. There was mischief—the fountain in the village square had been destroyed, painted blue, and filled with frogs (all of this only in the last year). All in all, those that lived there were content. It wasn’t a cheerful village. It wasn’t a gloomy village. If you ever managed to stumble across the village, you would leave saying “they seemed nice” and never think about them again.

Stumbling across the village was rather difficult, though. It was not in an optimal location to attract visitors. The only way to get to the village was by the Village Road. Keep in mind that this was what it was called, not what it was. It was really more of a trail. In the winter it was more of a hazard. During the spring melt it was a very long mud puddle. For the rest of the year it was a serviceable path, but not an appealing one. As a result, the only visitors they got were lost merchants, a few silly missionaries, one notable instance of a travelling bard, and the tax collectors. Sometimes even the tax collectors decided the trip wasn’t worth the damage to their carriage axles.

So when a boy no one had ever seen before stumbled into the village square and collapsed in a heap, the villagers were stumped.

“Where did he come from?”

“What’s he doing all the way out here?’

“He can’t have walked all this way.”

“Where are his parents?”

The questions swarmed the town. Everyone asked them and everyone was asked. Well, almost everyone. No one asked the boy. The boy had not woken up yet.

Questions were all anyone heard or said for the rest of the day. The villagers all got rather sick of standing around outside and never getting any answers. They organized a meeting in the village hall where they could sit inside and not get any answers.

To open the meeting, they reiterated everything: no one knew where he came from and no one knew how he got here. No one knew his face and no one knew his parents. All they knew was that he was too young to be travelling so far on his own, that he was very sunburned and very skinny, and that his feet were so torn he would not be able to walk when he woke up. With that out of the way, they moved onto the next order of business.

“He needs a place to stay,” said the kind and highly-respected rabbi. “I am too old to care for him.”

“My wife and I are too busy to care for him,” said the whiny and self-obsessed farmer.

“I’m afraid we do not have room for _another_ child,” said the virile and insatiable butcher.

“I need a break from minding children,” said the tired and introverted teacher.

“I do not have the desire,” said the pragmatic and honest doctor.

“We cannot manage him _and_ a baby,” said the pregnant and terrified baker’s wife.

The meeting continued in this manner. Each villager piped up with valid and acceptable and contrived and purely fictional excuses. It would have continued in this manner all night and well into the morning, but then something unexpected happened.

The intelligent and reticent seamstress was married to the friendly and well-spoken delivery man. She was the mother of three clever and well-mannered children. They had only arrived in town ten years earlier, escaping a danger that they did not like to talk about. Whatever had happened had made them hesitant to draw any attention to themselves.

When the intelligent and reticent seamstress stood up in the middle of the meeting, she drew the eyes of half the village. Her cough drew everyone else’s. Then she said the only thing that had been necessary to say since the rabbi’s first declaration.

“We will take the boy.”

And so when the boy woke up two days after he first collapsed, it was to soft singing in a language he didn't know and the glow of a bright light shining on closed eyes. The boy did not open his eyes to the light. Instead he laid as still as he could and tried to piece together where he was without revealing he was awake.

“He’s awake,” said a voice beside him.

The boy’s eyes flew open. He blinked away the lingering blur of sleep and saw another boy leaning over him. He had dark hair, pale skin, clever eyes, and the kindest smile the boy had ever seen.

“Hello there,” said the other boy. “My name is David Jacobs.”

The boy swallowed and tried to speak. He did not succeed in speaking, but he did have a rather spectacular coughing fit.

The-boy-named-David-Jacobs passed him a glass of water. Then the-boy-named-David-Jacobs helped him sit up to drink the water. Then the-boy-named-David-Jacobs helped to steady his hand to drink the water.

The boy decided he very much liked the-boy-named-David-Jacobs. But David Jacobs was too formal a name for someone as kind and helpful as the-boy-named-David-Jacobs.

“Nice to meet’cha, Davey,” the boy said.

Davey blinked and tilted his head. The motion reminded the boy of the cats that used to come say hi to him when he was hiding in alleyways. Then Davey smiled, bright as the sun that was shining through the window.

“The pleasure’s all mine,” Davey replied. “What’s your name?”

“Jack,” the-boy-who-decided-to-be-called-Jack said. “Jack Kelly.”

Someone cleared their throat. Jack and Davey looked to see that the intelligent and reticent seamstress—who most knew as Esther Jacobs and who Davey knew as Mama—She sat on the edge of the bed, right beside where his feet made lumps under the blankets.

“Hello there,” she said. “I’m David’s mother. May I ask you a few questions?”

Jack looked to Davey. Davey smiled.

“Okay,” Jack said.

“Thank you,” Davey’s Ma said.

That surprised Jack; he’d never been thanked for letting people ask him questions.

“How are you feeling?” she asked first.

Jack thought through his body. His head felt alright, which was good. His throat was still dry, but he was also still shaky so he didn’t want to grab the glass of water. His muscles were very sore but not as sore as his feet. None of it was as bad as it had been the last few days, though.

“Better,” Jack answered.

“I am glad to hear that. Do you know where you are?” she asked next.

Jack looked out the small window. He could see a few hills and a few clouds and absolutely nothing recognizable.

“No,” Jack answered

“At the moment you’re in my room,” Davey offered. His twitching lip made it clear he knew how unhelpful he was being.

Davey’s Ma’s mouth twitched too. “You are. And that room is in our house and that house is on the outskirts of the village furthest from the city. Do you know how you got here?”

Jack nodded. “I walked.”

He had also climbed and sprinted and snuck onto carts and clung onto carriages, but he didn’t really want to talk about any of that yet.

“Were you trying to get somewhere?” she asked next.

“Not really,” Jack answered.

“Were you trying to get away from somewhere?” she asked.

Jack didn’t answer that. Or, he didn’t answer that out loud. Instead he went very pale and very tense and his eyes went very wide.

Davey’s Ma froze. Davey breathed in sharply. They both looked at Jack shrewdly.

The Jacobs on the whole were not known for their shrewdness. The general Jacobs line was known for their kindness, their intelligence, and their remarkably tasty ginger cake recipe. It was only with the recent addition of Esther into the gene pool that they began to develop a reputation for astuteness too. Many silly people said that the newest line of Jacobs could stare into the depths of a person’s soul. Only a few clever people believed them.

“Jack– may I call you Jack?” Davey’s Ma asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Thank you. Please call me Esther,” Esther said. “How old are you Jack?”

“Fifteen,” Jack answered.

She nodded. Then she took a deep breath in and said: “I don’t want you to leave until you are completely healed.”

“Okay.” Jack said.

“But you do not have to leave if you do not want to,” she continued to say. “If you are trying to get away from something or someone or somewhere this is a good place to do so.”

“Would you like to stay?” Davey asked.

Jack thought about it for a moment. Then, slowly, he nodded.

Esther nodded back, sharper and quicker than Jack had, made a mental note to tell her husband they were going to have to rearrange a lot of furniture and renovate the shed, and decreed: “Then you will.”

And, for many years, he did.

..........

After two weeks of bedrest, Esther declared Jack whole enough to manage a short trip. Davey put too-large slippers on Jack’s feet and slung Jack’s arm around his shoulders. Davey and Esther helped him out of the house and towards a small sturdy stone shed only a few yards from the Jacobs’s front door. Davey’s father—who Jack had been told to call Mayer—was waiting for them. He opened the door with a wide smile and said “behold!”

Davey helped Jack make his way into the shed and held Jack up when his legs buckled.

A bed was in the corner, positioned so that the person lying down would be facing the door. Beside the headboard was a stool with a candle and a pack of matches on it. On the floor by the bed was a thick rug with slippers that looked about Jack’s size. There was a dresser with the doors open to reveal two shirts and a pair of trousers. There was a desk and a chair. There was a fireplace. The air felt so warm and homey and comforting that it caught in Jack’s throat.

“I can’t accept this,” he choked out.

“It’s too late to change your mind now,” Davey said cheerfully. “We already built the fireplace.”

“This is too much,” he tried again.

“It isn’t,” Esther assured him.

“I need to do something to repay you,” he finally settled on.

“You can help me with my deliveries,” Mayer offered. “It’s a good way to get to know the town.”

And so, after he was fully healed and no sooner, Jack became the official assistant delivery boy.

Jack shadowed Mayer on his route. Mayer introduced him to everyone in the village and artfully redirected the conversation when their neighbours started asking uncomfortable questions. Jack lifted so many boxes his knees cracked when he stood up. Mayer showed him stretches and Davey’s little brother Les demonstrated them with poor form but great enthusiasm. Davey’s twin sister Sarah gave Jack a salve for his sore muscles and giggled at the noise Jack made when Mayer dug his elbow into a particularly large knot in Jack’s shoulders.

At the end of his first week, Jack was surprised when Mayer pressed a share of the earnings into his hands. He put half of it under his pillow and half of it in the Jacobs's change jar (unbeknownst to him, Davey snuck the second half out of the change jar and under Jack’s pillow).

Davey called him “Delivery Boy” and only “Delivery Boy” until Jack trapped him in a headlock and made him promise to stop.

That Friday evening, as he sat with them at supper and made Les laugh so hard that he snorted milk out his nose, Jack became the unofficial sixth member of the Jacobs household.

When he wasn’t making deliveries, Jack started helping the Jacobs around the house. At first, he just tailed Davey and copied him. Then he started doing chores with Davey, heckling him and getting heckled all the while:

“No, Davey, _three_ pins for each shoulder. That coat’s gonna slip off the line.”

“Hold your horses, Davey. If I let the plates air dry before I wipe ‘em down then I won’t soak the towel.”

“Davey, your ma’s not gonna use a magnifying glass to check how clean the floors are. Put the broom down.”

Jack played with Les. Jack teased Davey and Sarah and was teased in return. Jack made deliveries and did chores. Jack settled and Jack stayed.

A year passed. Jack turned sixteen and cried when they brought out a cake and presents after supper.

Another year passed. Jack turned seventeen and smiled bashfully when they brought out a cake and presents after supper.

Jack grew up. Jack’s heart grew lighter. Jack was happy.

The Jacobs were more or less responsible for two of those things.

Just as Jack learned how to lift packages without hurting his back and fold trousers so the crease was straight and ask for things that he needed and ask for things he wanted, Jack learned about the people that had taken him in.

He learned that Esther was intelligent and reticent. He also learned that she was patient. He learned that she was observant. Esther was the one that caught him doodling in the dirt with a stick. Jack was pretty sure she was the one that gave him the art supplies (she was) and convinced the shopkeeper to start stocking paint and turpentine (that was Mayer). Esther was meticulous. Esther was defensive. She was a little vain. She was very strict. She was attentive. She was kind.

A long time ago Jack had a mother. He didn’t really want another one—he didn’t want to replace the one he’d had, even in name—so he thought of Esther’s as Davey’s Ma and that was enough to settle his heart.

He learned that Mayer was friendly and well-spoken. He also learned that Mayer was dependable. He learned that Mayer was encouraging. Mayer complimented and commended others freely and frequently. Mayer’s memory was incredible. He knew the name of everyone in the village and the names of their cousins who were not in the village. He knew when each building had been built and when they’d been repaired and who had helped them. He knew history and stories—he knew so many stories Jack wondered if he’d replaced one of his less important organs with a library. Mayer was funny. Mayer was protective. He was a little embarrassing. He was very self-sacrificing. He was warm. He was steady.

A long time ago Jack had a father. He didn’t really want another one—he didn’t know how he felt about replacing the one he’d had, even in name—so he thought of Mayer as Davey’s Pa and that was enough to settle his heart.

He learned that all of the Jacobs kids were clever and well-mannered. He also learned that they didn’t care that he wasn’t—or, rather, he learned that they didn’t care if he forgot to swallow his food before speaking and that they were liable to hit him over the head if he ever suggested he wasn’t clever.

He learned that Les was daring and curious. He learned that Les was enthusiastic. He learned that Les was sociable. Adults, children, dogs, cats, weird-looking rocks; no one was safe from Les’s eager greetings. Les was precocious. He was easily bored. He was very blunt. Les was absolutely adorable but Jack never told him because he knew it would go badly.

He learned that Sarah was talented and passionate. He learned that she was empathetic. He learned that she was devoted—to her family, to her ideals, and to her dreams. He learned that she wanted to become a miracle worker. He learned that she would stop at almost nothing to do so. She stayed up late and got up early. She knew more about plants than anyone Jack had ever met—probably more than anyone else in the world. (Jack was incorrect; she was the thirty-second most knowledgeable. Most of the others on the list were in their late eighties, though, so it was a respectable ranking). Sarah was sneaky. Sarah was stubborn. Sarah was incredibly pretty but Jack never told her because it would not have ended well and also because—for reasons not yet known to him—he didn’t really care.

Jack never had brothers or sisters before. He’d had friends. Les and Sarah were his friends. He smiled when he realized that. It is very hard not to smile when you realize you have friends.

Davey was… well, Davey was Davey.

Davey was quiet. Davey was careful. Davey cared so much that Jack was sure his heart was twice as big as everyone else’s. Davey was the best listener Jack had ever met. Davey was brilliant. Davey was a know-it-all. Davey learned as many big words as he could and used them whenever he could. Davey was unbelievably funny but only when you least expected it. Davey was the best friend Jack had ever had. Davey was Jack’s favourite person in the world.

Everyone in the village knew that if you were looking for Jack you could just as well say you were looking for Davey and if you were looking for Davey you could just as well say you were looking for Jack. And everyone in the village knew that Jack would do almost anything for his best friend, and that he would do so with a cheerful “For sure, Davey.”

Jack was aware that he spent a lot of time with Davey. He had to, though. He didn’t understand him. Every time he thought he’d finally figured Davey out Davey would surprise him. He would think Davey was careful and then he’d have to convince him not to fight a boy twice his size for knocking Les over. He would think Davey was listening and then he’d realize that Davey had been busy thinking about the weather and hadn’t heard a word he’d said. He’d think Davey knew everything and then he’d laugh as Davey tried and failed to properly attach Jack’s canvas to the frames. He’d think Davey was funny and then he’d end up groaning when Davey made the absolute worst puns in the world.

Jack didn’t understand Davey, but he wanted to. He wanted to know the difference between the smile Davey got when he was pleased and the one Davey got when he was pleased and embarrassed about being pleased. He wanted to know why Davey never liked to get his shirt dirty but happily mucked up his shoes. He wanted to know what Davey thought and when he changed his mind. Jack wanted to understand Davey, and he would happily spend the rest of his life trying to if that was what it took.

To anyone else the implications would have been obvious (to everyone else it _was_ obvious), but Jack never gave it much thought.

Until, one day, Jack stomped into the house and saw Davey putting his coat on in the kitchen, where every single cupboard door and drawer were open.

“We’re almost out of flour and Mama had hoped to make the bread tonight,” Davey said, “so I’m going to go to the shop. Would you like to come with me?”

Jack had just spent an hour shovelling a path from his room to the Jacobs front door and from the Jacobs front door to the main path. He’d then cleared the snow off of the roof. Then he’d realized that the snow from the roof had covered most of the path he’d just shoveled. Then he’d shoveled it all again. He was cold and exhausted and his arms felt like jelly.

But it was Davey.

“For sure, Davey,” Jack said.

On that day, he was amazed to discover that when he was saying “For sure, Davey,” what he was really saying was “I love you.”

To say Jack took this in a stride would be a lie. To say he took it lying down would be accurate; as soon as he discovered this, he begged off going to the shop, excused himself to his room, flopped down on his bed, and screamed into his pillow. Then he turned onto his back and thought it over.

There were many things he could have thought. He could have wondered when he started loving Davey and gotten so caught up in looking back to identify the moment that he never tried to move forwards. He could have asked himself whether Davey loved him back and been so terrified of the answer that he abandoned his feelings entirely. He could have decided he was confused and that the lurch he had felt in his chest had actually been the beginning of an undiscovered disease that he was going to spread to everyone in the village. He did not think any of that, though.

When Jack Kelly discovered he loved Davey Jacobs, the only thought he had was: _Of course I do._

No realization had ever felt so astonishing and so predictable at the same time.

Jack loved Davey. Of course he did. And he had to tell him.

..........

The next day, Jack was annoyed to discover that he was saying “For sure, Davey” because saying “I love you” presented something of a problem.

He tried to tell Davey many times. It never went well.

The first time he tried, he and Davey were chopping vegetables for supper. As Jack finished cutting up the onions, he wiped his eyes and looked over to see if Davey had finished with the carrots. He froze at the sight of him. Davey’s face was screwed up in concentration, his tongue sticking out. He was moving the knife up and down methodically. Every slice on his board was the exact same size. He was less than half-way through the pile of carrots. Jack loved him so much it hurt.

Davey must have felt Jack staring because he looked up, blushed, and demanded: “What?”

 _I love you,_ was what Jack should have said. It was what Jack wanted to say.

Instead, what he said was “Holy shit, Dave; we’re gonna starve at this rate.”

The next time he tried was when they were walking home from the butcher. Right as Jack was about to turn the corner, Davey yanked him back and flattened him against the wall. Davey pressed a finger to his lips and grinned. Jack didn’t really need to be shushed; he didn’t have enough air in his lungs to make a peep. Davey knelt down, gathered up a mitt-full of snow, packed it into a ball, and then, in quick succession, jumped out, launched it, and jumped back. Jack heard Sarah scream and then burst into a loud expletive-laced tirade against her brother’s character. Jack watched as Davey doubled over, laughing hysterically. Jack giggled as he watched Davey struggle to catch his breath. Jack looked at Davey’s blotchy face and tear-streaked cheeks and wanted to spend the rest of his life trying to make him laugh that hard.

Davey must have felt Jack staring because he looked up and said: “Not even a thank you? I just saved your life!”

 _I love you,_ was what Jack should have said. It was what Jack wanted to say.

Instead, what he said was: “My hero. I’ll remember you fondly after she kills you.”

The next time he planned it out. He took Davey for a walk on their favourite path, the one that led to the tall tree by the stream. He thought the words the entire way, repeating them over and over in his head— _I love you, I love you, I love you._ He thought them as they sat under the tree and talked and laughed and teased each other— _I love you, I love you, I love you._ At the first natural pause in the conversation, Jack looked over. Davey had tilted his head back to rest against the tree. His eyes were closed. He was smiling slightly. The sun shone through the leaves and cast shadows across his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. Not for the first time, Jack thought that Davey had to be the most beautiful person in the world.

Davey must have felt Jack staring because he looked up and asked: “What is it?” 

_I love you,_ was what Jack should have said. It was what Jack wanted to say.

Instead, what he said was: “You have a bug on your shirt.”

Love is many things but it is not logical.

Jack gave up on trying to tell him. He decided to stick with “For sure, Davey.”

Davey would say “Hey Jack, would you like to go for a walk?” and, even if it was freezing cold and almost dark, Jack would say: “For sure, Davey.”

Davey would say “Jack, could you please pass me my book?” and, even if he had to drop his brushes and walk across the house to do so, Jack would say: “For sure, Davey.”

Davey would say “Jack, do you think I’ll ever find someone who loves me as much as my parents love each other?” and, even though he desperately wanted to say _you already have,_ all Jack could say was: “For sure, Davey.”

Jack went on many walks and errands with Davey and passed Davey many things and consoled Davey through many concerns and dilemmas, loving him all the while.

Jack comforted himself with the knowledge that his inexplicably odd constant confessions were probably not noticeable. To anyone other than himself, it must have looked like a quirky sort of yes. In fact, Jack doubted anyone noticed that he said it; he was just being self-conscious. And (rightly) Jack thought that even if Davey did notice, he would not tease him for it—as much as Davey loved to tease him, he knew the difference between being funny and cruel. He also (rightly) knew that Davey had no room to tease—Davey enjoyed odd turns of phrase as much as he enjoyed heavy books and honey in his tea and saying silly things with such a straight face that they almost went unnoticed.

Months passed and turned to years. Jack turned eighteen, then nineteen. Life in the village continued as it always had. Jack made art. Davey read. Sarah studied. Esther sewed. Mayer told stories. Les did whatever caught his fancy, since he had decided that the best way to find what he liked to do most in the world was to try to do everything in the world. They weathered storms and soaked up sunshine. They worried and they celebrated. They all grew older and sometimes grew wiser.

All the while, Jack tried to work up the courage to confess directly what he’d been indirectly confessing for years.

..........

The moment sort of came on a breezy summer afternoon. Jack and Davey had walked until they reached the top of the tallest hill in the region. From the top of the hill they looked out at the flagpoles of the castle.

“I’d like to paint it someday,” Jack said.

“The castle?” Davey checked.

Jack nodded. “Yeah. I sort of remember what it looks like but not really. If I paint it, then I’ll never forget it again. And if I ever started to forget it again, I’ll be able to look at my painting and remember.”

“But the whole idea of painting it in the first place is that you won’t forget it again.” Davey said. “So, arguably, you should be able to paint it and then throw the painting away and still remember it forever.”

“No, Davey, that’s not what I– you’re teasing me aren’t you?”

“Just a bit.”

Jack shook his head. “Why do I put up with you?”

“Because I’m wonderful,” Davey said.

He had no idea how much Jack agreed.

For a moment they looked out at the flagpoles. Jack thought about how it would be funny to add them to his next painting; two sticks on the horizon, behold the might of your King. Davey, meanwhile, thought about how it was odd that the flags were not waving in the breeze, and concluded that it must be a windless day in that region. Then he thought about how the city must be very, _very_ far from the village for them not to even share the same wind. He thought about how far Jack must have come all those years ago, and how far Jack would have to be from him if he ever decided to return.

Jack did not know Davey was thinking about all this, of course.

“You would have to go to the city to paint it properly,” David said finally.

Jack shrugged. “Maybe one day I will.”

“May I come with you when you do?”

“For sure, Davey.”

“Why do you always say that?”

Jack froze.

“What? I don’t!” Jack said.

Jack was incorrect. Though he had not noticed, over the past seven months Jack had said it one-hundred and eighty-two times.

“You do,” Davey said (correctly). “You used to say it sometimes and now you seem to say it all the time and I don’t understand why. Why don’t you just say something else like… ‘Certainly’ or ‘Alright’?”

Jack felt cornered, which didn’t make any sense; they were sitting on top of a hill in a wide field. But while fear is many things it is not very logical. Because of this, Jack reacted like he always did when he was cornered; he struck out wildly.

Jack grasped around his memory for something to defend himself with. His head landed on: “Well… why do _you_ always say ‘As you wish’?”

Davey froze.

“Well– I–” he stuttered.

His face had turned very red. He twisted his hands together. He ducked his head and looked away.

Jack saw all this. He ran these actions through his head, thinking about the many years he’d known Davey and liked Davey and loved Davey, trying to understand what exactly this all meant.

As he was doing this, Jack had started scratching at the paint on his nails. He frowned slightly. His lashes fluttered as his eyes darted across Davey’s features. Davey ran these actions through his head, thinking about the many years he’d known Jack and liked Jack loved Jack, trying to understand what exactly this all meant.

Then, suddenly, it hit them.

For a moment they simply looked at one another. It was the first time since Jack had blinked the bleariness of sleep from his eyes on that bright afternoon that they’d seen each other clearly.

“I say it because I love you,” Davey said finally.

“Oh,” Jack said dumbly.

Davey’s face was still very red and his fingers were still tangled together, but did not look down or away. “I would very much like it if you loved me too. Could you please find it in yourself to love me too?”

“For sure, Davey,” Jack said hoarsely. “Kiss me?”

“As you wish,” Davey said immediately and did.

Since the invention of the kiss there have been many great kisses. What makes a great kiss is up for considerable debate. It is generally agreed that passion and purity both come into play, but the definition of and criteria for achieving these qualities is highly contentious. Even when terms are defined and criteria is set, there is still the issue of balancing the two. Duration is also important to ensure quality, though the length of time varies with relation to intensity, just as intensity varies with relation to duration. There are other factors, of course, such as timing (sunsets are ideal, sunrises are only suitable for morning people, and in the middle of an important conversation about boundaries is the absolute worst), location (a battlefield may be impressively dramatic but such kisses can quickly turn south if no one is guarding the couple), and attentiveness (this was not included initially, as it was assumed to be a given, but was soon added after it became apparent it very much was not).

Jack and Davey’s first kiss was, with regard to the aforementioned criteria, not very good.

Their second kiss was better.

Their third kiss was much better.

Their fourth kiss was the greatest kiss in a century.

They walked home holding hands and smiling wide. They entered the house like that. They were immediately met with many congratulations and (though Sarah and Les were the only ones to express it out loud) a great deal of relief.

That evening, unbeknownst to Jack or Davey, money exchanged many hands. A good deal of it went to Sarah. Most of it went to Esther.

..........

Much like Jack’s original realization, the ease with which Jack and Davey shifted from friends to lovers was at once astonishing and predictable. Many things stayed the same. They still ran errands and helped around the house. They still teased each other incessantly. Davey still read and studied and Jack still sketched and painted. It was like nothing had changed at all.

Except from the kissing, of course. They did that a lot.

The two of them had also been subjected to a stern and awkward and horrifically comprehensive lecture from Esther and Mayer.

And every “as you wish” and “for sure, Davey” was now met with a dopey grin.

And sometimes one of them would look at the other without the other noticing and just stop for a moment, struck by how lucky they were to love someone so wonderful and be loved by them in return.

Months passed and turned to years. They turned twenty then twenty-one. Childhood plans of adventure mellowed to dreams. Jack still thought about the castle, but contented himself with painting the forest a hundred different ways. Davey still talked about university but instead started teaching in the village school. Davey woke up early to kiss Jack goodbye. Jack waited at the school gates to walk Davey home. They grew older and they grew closer. Jack thought he could be happy if he never did anything else.

Sometimes Jack found himself wondering how much work it would take to repair the old farmhouse north of the village. Sometimes Jack caught himself looking at Davey’s fingers and thinking they looked too bare. Jack brushed the thoughts away, reminding himself that they had time. They had time and they had each other. Jack thought that he could be happy if he never had anything else.

And then, on a cloudy spring morning, Davey said something that would change their lives (and quite a few other peoples’ lives) forever.

“I’m leaving.”

Jack’s heart flopped in his chest. If it could have, it would have jumped out of his body and fallen to the floor with an odd sort of squelching sound.

“You mean you’re going to the shop.” Jack said, knowing that was not what Davey meant.

Davey shook his head. “No. I’m leaving.”

As many do, Jack held onto ignorance as a last defence against change: “You mean there’s something you can’t find in the shop here so you’re going to the village that the merchants usually stop in to see if they have it and you’ll be back in a few days–”

“The merchant ship _Fortuna_ will be docking in the nearby harbour. I’m going to apply for a job on board.”

The floor became very unsteady beneath Jack’s feet. He clung onto the chair in front of him.

“So you’re… you’re leaving?”

“Yes.”

Jack collapsed into the chair.

Davey knelt down in front of him. “Jack, please look at me.”

Jack had never been good at refusing Davey, so he did.

“Please say something,” Davey begged.

Jack swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Why? Why do you want to–?”

“I don’t,” Davey said. “Even the thought of leaving makes me feel like my soul is being ripped to pieces but it is the only way we can have a future.”

“I don’t understand,” Jack said.

“I love this village. I love it because you are here. I love it because my family is here. I know you feel the same, just as I know Sarah and Les and my parents do. But this village holds nothing for us. My father is getting older and he is already getting tired. Soon he will not be able to make the deliveries anymore. If you take over you will not be able to pursue your art. If Les takes over he will never discover what he loves. Sarah will never become a miracle worker if she has to stay here and she will never let herself leave us behind. And you know my mother is capable of so much more than what is asked of her here; you know she wants to be asked to do more. And _we_ cannot live the life we want in this village, Jack. I want to learn as much as I can and you want to see the world.”

“Not without _you,_ ” Jack said.

Davey smiled. He took Jack’s hands in his and pressed a soft kiss to his knuckles.

“The voyage will only take a year to complete. I will work hard and earn enough money to afford for us all to move to the city. My mother will become a famous seamstress and make gowns for the nobility. My father will teach like he’s always wanted to and he will never have to drive another cart for as long as he lives. Les’s exploration will no longer be bound to forests and fields and village life. Sarah will study miracles and I will study languages. You will continue to capture the beauty of the world. After we are settled and when we are ready, I will arrange for us to journey the kingdom. Your compositions will never again be limited to fields and forests and cobblestones. We are going to have a future together. When I return, I will give you the future you deserve.”

“If you return.” Jack said, because he was not Davey and he did not have the ability to explain the jolt of fear he’d had at the words _a year to complete._

“When,” Davey said with certainty.

Davey had a way of saying things that made them sound absolute. He said them like he was daring the universe to oppose him. He said them like it was absolutely impossible for them not to be certain. He said them like he was willing his words into reality. Sometimes it even worked.

Jack had always needed more than words, though, so he lunged off the chair and grabbed Davey as tightly as he could. Davey held him just as tight and pressed his lips to the crown of Jack’s head.

“You need to come back,” Jack mumbled into Davey’s shirt. “Come back as soon as you’re done. As soon as you step off that ship, you’re going to use some of that shiny fortune of yours to buy a horse and you are going to travel faster than any man has ever traveled before and you are going to come back.”

“As you wish,” Davey murmured into Jack’s hair. “Wait for me?”

“For sure, Davey.”

..........

David Jacobs left on a damp spring morning. The dawning sun caught on the thick layer of fog that hung close to the earth. The dewy grass caught on the shoes of those that had gathered to say goodbye. Most of the village had come to see him off; people leaving was always an event and Davey was a well-liked young man so his departure drew even more attention than usual.

Davey’s father clapped him on the shoulder and, because Mayer had never been one to hold back his affection, he hugged Davey tightly and told him in every way he knew how proud he was. Then he kissed Davey’s forehead and let him say goodbye to his mother.

Davey’s mother checked that he had everything and fussed with his collar and scarf and hair until Davey grabbed her by the wrists and pulled her into his arms. She clung to his coat and hid her tears in the fabric. Then she pulled back, brushed his hair out of his eyes and let him kiss her on the cheek and let him say goodbye to his little brother.

Davey knelt down so that Les could throw his arms around his shoulders. Les promised to be good if Davey brought him home a present and Davey laughed brightly and said he’d do his best. Then Les wiped away his tears, went to his mother’s open arms and let Davey say goodbye to their sister.

Davey hugged Sarah so tightly he lifted her off her feet. What they said to one another was for them alone. When they pulled away they were both misty-eyed.

Then, finally, Davey came to Jack.

“Stay safe,” Jack ordered.

Davey smiled and nodded. “I’ll see you next Spring.”

Jack nodded back. “Next Spring.” And, because it was going to be a long time until he would be able to say it again and he didn’t want to mince words doing so, he said, quite plainly: “I love you.”

Davey blinked. A tear rolled down his cheek. It caught on the corner of his smile. He pulled Jack in for a soft kiss, hugged him close, and held him for a long time.

Like it was the most treasured secret in the world, Davey whispered in Jack’s ear: “I love you too.”

Then he let go and straightened the collar on Jack’s coat. Davey had given it to him for his twenty-first birthday. He always smiled when Jack wore it. He smiled even wider when Jack draped it over his shoulders and teased him about getting cold so easily. He smiled now and kissed Jack once more.

Then he said goodbye to them all once more, and set off down the path to greatness.

Of course, Davey just thought it was the rugged trail that connected his childhood village to the main road. No one watching him go thought he was setting down the path for greatness, either. They were too busy wishing he wasn’t leaving and wishing he’d chosen to leave on a clearer day—the fog made him disappear all too soon.

For the rest of the day, Jack moped. He felt he was entitled to. The Jacobs agreed. They were moping too.

Mayer took on the job of well-wisher-warding-off. He sat outside and looked at the horizon Davey had disappeared over. Esther cooked all day. No one commented on how the tears did not cease even after she’d finished chopping onions. Les flopped across every surface available with loud sighs, went outside and ran around, and then came back and flopped some more. Sarah studied. Occasionally she looked up to share an interesting fact only to remember that the person she’d always shared them with was not there. Jack stared at walls and out windows and at the floor and at absolutely nothing.

That night Esther knocked on the door of his room and sat on the edge of his bed, right beside where his feet made lumps under the blanket.

“Missing someone feels like an open wound at first,” she said, “but in time the pain does fade.”

“I don’t know what to do without him,” Jack admitted.

Esther moved closer, until she was sitting right beside where his stomach was rising and falling under the blanket. She reached out slowly and brushed his hair away from his eyes.

“You will help Mayer with deliveries and me with the laundry,” she said. “You will play with Les and tease Sarah. You will clear snow off the roof and shovel the path. You will cut vegetables and get groceries. You will draw and paint and create piles of beautiful pieces to show David when he returns. You will do what you have always done with him and you will learn to do those things without him.”

Jack nodded in understanding.

Then, because he didn’t understand it at all, he said: “It hurts so much. Why does it hurt so much?”

“Because you love him,” she said. “That love feels painful without him here to return it. But you know he loves you dearly and that knowledge will help you endure until he returns. And I love you dearly so I will help you endure this too. As will Mayer and Sarah and Les. We will all help one another because that is what family does.”

Esther said all this with such certainty that Jack couldn’t help but follow her instructions.

Jack helped Mayer with his deliveries. With Davey’s words in mind, he saw how Mayer winced at the end of the day. Jack began to take over the heavy lifting while Mayer drove the cart and greeted their neighbours. To Jack’s surprise, the parcels started to feel lighter. Without having to take time to catch his breath, Mayer also shared more stories—many of which Davey had neglected to share. Jack laughed often and Mayer smiled wide and they before Jack knew it a month had passed.

Jack helped Esther with the laundry. With Davey’s words in mind, he asked her questions. He learned about different fabrics and stitches. He started to join her outside when she was embroidering and drew the view from the front of the house over and over, listening to the birds and the occasional snip of scissors. To Jack’s surprise, Esther showed him the dress she’d taken with her when they’d ran away from the danger in their last village. She showed him the lacy veil she’d made for Sarah and the tallit she’d made for Davey. She showed Jack the patches she’d started embroidering for his if he decided to make an honest man of her son. Esther smiled coyly and Jack blushed brightly and before Jack knew it another month had passed.

Jack played with Les. With Davey’s words in mind, Jack just did whatever the hell Les wanted to do. They weeded the garden and planted cherry pits. They climbed trees and looked for bird nests. They made little boats and sailed them on the stream. He read Les stories and read Les’s stories. To Jack’s surprise, he enjoyed himself. And though Les seemed to get tired of every activity they tried he never seemed to get tired of Jack; Les would seek him out and tell him the plan and they’d set off together. Les led on and Jack followed behind and before Jack knew it another month had passed.

Jack teased Sarah. Jack was always going to tease Sarah, just as Sarah was always going to tease Jack. But with Davey’s words in mind Jack also talked to Sarah and spent time with Sarah. This usually resulted in even more teasing, but it also resulted in heart to hearts, and the occasional intelligent conversation. It resulted in Sarah posing for Jack’s paintings and Jack making Sarah flashcards. To Jack’s surprise, quizzing Sarah about miracle working was kind of fun:

“Upset stomach.”

“Tea with ginger root and watch for other symptoms.”

“Colic?”

“Swaddling and rocking, walking, soft ambient noise, and a sharp whack on the head for anyone that suggests alcohol.”

“Rash on the right ear lobe and left pinky toe.”

“The Random Ailment. Poultice from blackbird saliva and peppermint leaves. Administer orally for eight days and watch for nostril swelling.”

“Concoction #47 is made with snow sand, river water, and what flower?”

“...Oh, I know this. I _swear_ I know this one. It’s… rosehips. No, wait, lilacs? No, _damn it_ … wait, there’s no Concoction #47, there are only forty- _three_ miracle concoctions– Jack! JACK KELLY, YOU GET BACK HERE RIGHT NOW SO THAT I CAN MAIM YOU!”

For all the years they’d spent together, they had never been so close. Jack loved her and liked her and Sarah loved him and liked him and before Jack knew it another month had passed.

Autumn came and Jack chopped vegetables for pickling. Winter came and Jack cleared the snow from the roof and cleared the snow from the path—in that order, because he learned from his mistakes. He let Les ride on his shoulders on the way to the shop and lifted Sarah by the waist to make her scream.

On a cold winter night, Mayer took Jack aside.

“I wanted to thank you,” he said earnestly—Mayer did not have his wife or children’s gift for certainty, but he always had heart.

“What for?” Jack asked.

Mayer smiled. “You have made David’s absence easier on all of us, Jack. Immeasurably so. I have always known you were a good boy and suspected you were going to be a good man. I was wrong; you are a great man. I am grateful you chose to stay all those years ago. Thank you for all that you have done and all that you have given us.”

Jack blinked back tears and nodded.

Mayer smiled and clapped him on the shoulder and, because Mayer had never been one to hold back his affection, he hugged Jack tightly and kissed his forehead.

Jack hugged him back; hugging requires reaching out and reaching back. Hugging is a bit like love in that way.

During and in-between the time Jack spent with the Jacobs, he worked on his art. He drew the decrepit village fountain while he waited for Sarah to sell her ointments. He drew Mayer laughing as Esther’s wry comments and Esther smiling at Mayer’s silly jokes. He drew Les as he posed dramatically and Sarah as she posed serenely. He took his materials down to the stream and painted his and Davey’s favourite spot and the view from their favourite spot—one for each direction. To Jack’s surprise, he improved; his colours were brighter, his forms more accurate, his brushstrokes more dynamic. He looked over his pile of paintings and drawings and thought about showing them to Davey. He thought about flipping through them together. Jack thought about making Davey trade for them—one drawing for a story from his voyage, one painting for a kiss. Jack smiled to himself and sniffled a little bit, and before he knew it more months had passed.

On the days when Jack could barely breathe past the worry and fear, he would remember the words Davey whispered to him the night before he left, the night he’d snuck out to Jack’s room, the night they’d stayed up till dawn tracing each other’s features, memorizing every freckle and blemish and scar.

_I promise you; I will return. If there has ever been true love, then this is it. And true love does not happen every day. It is special. That is how I know I will return to you. I will always return to you, Jack._

Jack endured. Jack prevailed. And, every day, Jack looked at the horizon to see if Davey had returned early.

..........

Since Davey had left last spring, the village had held one wedding, welcomed two babies into the world, put out a number of small fires (metaphorically), put out one large fire (physically), and weathered a bitter winter. Everything had been quite normal until they received a very unexpected visit from two merchants.

They rode into the village on a cool afternoon. It was late enough in the season that you couldn’t be sure whether Spring had come early or if Winter was teasing you before unleashing more flurries. The two merchants had somehow gotten incredibly lost on their way from the harbour, seeing as they had turned the wrong way on the main road and never course-corrected even when the castle turrets disappeared over the horizon. They decided to stay in the village for a few weeks to let their horses rest and lap up the onslaught of attention.

“How long have you worked in international trade?” Esther asked as she poured the last of the tea into their cups.

“Oh… I think it will be fifteen years this September,” said the short merchant.

“No, you dummy,” said the tall merchant. “It will be sixteen years this September.”

“That’s right. Or is it November?”

“That’s right; sixteen years this November.”

Since arriving in the village, they had spent every meal in a different house, answering the villager’s eager questions, drinking a lot of tea, and eating a lot of sweets. Unfortunately, no one had caught their names when they’d arrived. As the days passed, it became more and more awkward to ask what they were. As such, the villagers had taken to simply referring to them as the tall merchant—who was not really very tall, just taller than his partner—and the short merchant—who was not really very short, just shorter than his partner.

“That’s a long time to do something.” Mayer said. He raised his voice: “Isn’t it, Jack?”

Jack jolted, looked around the table and said: “Uh… yeah?”

Esther hid her smile behind her teacup.

Spring was just around the corner; the closer it crept the more distracted Jack became.

“Huh, so it is,” the short merchant said in wonder. “I guess if you do something long enough you don’t really notice it’s been that long.”

“Is the work difficult?” Sarah asked interestedly from where she was manning the soup on the stove.

“Is it dangerous?” Les asked excitedly as he bounced on his chair.

“It can be,” the tall merchant said. “Weather’s not very nice most days and trying to maintain civil working relationships can be a trial.”

“Don’t forget the pirates,” the short merchant said.

“Oh, yes, that’s right; the pirates are a real bother. Especially that Dread Pirate Morris.” The tall merchant frowned and shook his head the way one might when discussing postal service delays and poorly furnished inns. “He’s been rampaging and such for almost twenty years now—a failure of maritime law enforcement, that’s what I call it. If he were on land, he’d have been arrested at least a decade ago. But it’s on the sea so no one really cares.”

“Why is he called the Dread Pirate Morris?” Les asked excitedly.

“Because he doesn’t leave any survivors,” the tall merchant answered absently.

“Well, we are very glad that you had a safe and prosperous voyage,” Esther said before her son could launch into a series of questions about pillaging and plundering.

The short merchant shrugged. “The Dread Pirate Morris keeps a pretty regular path so it is easy to avoid him. He’s only in this region in the winter. He heads north for the spring, then he’s up near Gilder in the summer, then he heads to the Florin coast for Autumn, then he comes back here. We took the south path to the harbour and avoided him nicely. Really, so long as you have a good navigator, you’re fine.”

“If it’s so easy to predict his path, why hasn’t he just changed it?” Sarah asked. “It doesn’t make sense for him to keep a route people know to avoid.”

The tall merchant snorted. “Well, the problem is only knowledgeable navigators know to avoid him and they’re all hired up and there is no incentive for new navigators to become knowledgeable. With all the interest in travel, captains have been fast-tracking the hiring process in order to meet demand. They’ll hire anyone that can use a compass these days. It’s ridiculous. They learn in the end, though. Just a few weeks ago a ship got hit. We asked around and, sure enough, they took the north path to come into harbour. They ran right into Morris; you know what that means.”

“And so close to the end of their voyage, too,” the short merchant said.

The tall merchant huffed. “Bad planning and bad luck—it’s a dangerous combination.”

“I suppose that makes sense–” Sarah was cut off by the scream of steam. “Mama, the kettle.”

“Thank you, dear,” Esther said.

“I’ll get it,” Jack said. He stood up and grabbed the teapot, then started making his way around the full table and towards the stove.

“What was the name of that ship?” the tall merchant asked.

“The _Revenge,_ ” the short merchant answered.

“Not _Morris’s_ ship, dummy. The one he attacked.”

“Oh, sorry. The _Fortuna._ ”

The teapot shattered across the floor.

..........

Very few things in the universe are certain. Love and uncertainty are two of these things. Death is another.

The Jacobs grieved. They yelled and they screamed and they cursed and they cried. They ripped their clothes and buried an empty coffin. They sat shiva and didn’t talk to anyone that came. They re-entered the world quieter and paler and emptier. They asked their neighbours how they were doing without caring about their answers. They asked the rabbi how this could have happened and found no comfort in his answers. They only shrugged when people asked them how they were. There weren’t any words to describe how they were feeling.

A month after the funeral, they gathered up David’s belongings and put them away. Then they cried some more. For all that he had been quiet and contained, David had loved and cared so deeply that he seemed larger than life. It was not fair that everything left of him fit into a small wooden chest. It was not fair that they had so little left of their eldest son when they should have had _him_ for a lifetime.

They didn’t though, so they grieved.

Jack, of course, grieved with them. He ripped the collar of the jacket Davey had given him for his birthday. Sarah read the headstone out loud to him because she knew Davey hadn’t finished teaching him Hebrew. He did what they asked him to and very little otherwise.

Esther and Mayer moved him to share Sarah’s room. They told him to eat and told him to rest. They took him outside to sit in the sun and took him for walks to stretch his legs. They talked to him and around him. None of it seemed to work, but they kept doing it. They did not know how to help him any more than they were. They weren’t sure what they were doing. They just knew they couldn’t bear to have another child slip through their fingers.

The days continued to pass. Spring arrived and David didn’t. Sarah burst into tears in the middle of sentences until one day she didn’t. Les yelled at the slightest provocation and stormed around the house until one day he didn’t. Mayer turned away visitors and old friends until one day he didn’t. Esther stared into space for hours until one day she didn’t.

They didn’t move on but they did move forwards.

Jack did not.

Jack ate mechanically, tasting nothing as he looked at the empty space at the table. He listened to them murmur comforting words without understanding anything they said. He woke up every morning without feeling he’d slept. Sometimes, for a dreadful moment, he would forget. He would turn over in bed and expect to see Davey’s face pressed into the pillow, mouth parted slightly, hair dark against the white linen. He would look up and expect to see Davey reading in the armchair, with his legs curled up on the seat and a pencil tucked behind his ear so that he could make notes in the margins. He would sit outside and expect Davey to come and join him, kissing his head as he went to sit in the other chair. Then Jack would remember. And it would all crash down on him again. And he’d want to scream until his throat bled. He’d want to cry so violently he couldn’t breath with the force of it. But Jack did not scream. He did not yell. He did not curse. When he cried, it was so quiet that he barely noticed his own tears. All Jack had was his grief. He didn’t want to be empty so he kept it inside and held onto it tightly.

Time passed. The days grew longer. The world grew warmer. The sun shined in through the windows and Jack pulled the blankets over his face.

Jack laid in bed, wishing that the world would swallow him up like the sea had swallowed his true love.

Until one day he didn’t.

On an inconsequential Wednesday afternoon, Jack got out of bed. He changed his clothes. He washed and shaved his face. He made himself a cup of coffee, took a sip, and then put a bit more sugar in it. The house was empty so he went outside.

Esther was embroidering in the late summer sun. She looked up at the sound of Jack clearing his throat. She smiled and took her basket off the other chair.

Jack sat down. He leaned back and closed his eyes. He listened to the birds and the occasional snip of scissors. He felt the sun shining warm on his face and breathed in the smell of dirt and dust and laundry soap. He opened his eyes and looked at the sheets hanging on the wire. He looked at the cobblestone path that led to the village square. He looked to the horizon, where brown and green met clear blue. He looked at Esther Jacobs and wondered when her worry lines had gotten so much deeper.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“You don’t have to apologize,” she said.

“I just…”

“I know.”

She waited patiently as Jack gathered his thoughts and tried to remember how to put them into words.

He swallowed. “I don’t think I will ever stop missing him but… missing him has become my whole life. I don’t want it to be my whole life anymore.”

She smiled. “That is very well said, Jack.”

He laughed. It was the first time he’d laughed in months. “It sounds like something he would have said, doesn’t it?”

She laughed too. It was the first time she’d laughed in months. “It really does.”

Jack laughed again and laughed some more until his laughs turned to sobs.

Esther knelt in front of him and held him like he was precious.

“I–” he tried to say.

She rocked him gently. “I know.”

“I loved him,” he said. Saying it out loud was easier now that it was an injustice. “ _I loved him._ ”

“He loved you too,” Esther said. “Jack, he loved you _so much._ ”

“We– he said we’d– and I– I _told_ him– He _promised_ –”

Around her own tears, Esther choked out: “I know, sweetheart, I know. And I am so sorry. I’m _so_ sorry.”

“He was supposed to come _back._ ”

“He was.”

“I can’t–” He felt it escaping, all the hurt and the pain. He tried to claw it back because if he didn’t have that then what did he have?

Esther pressed her hand on the back of his head and guided his face to her shoulder. “None of that. It’s okay, Jack. I’ve got you. You can let go.”

He did.

Crying always feels like it will take forever. It doesn’t—there is a surprisingly consistent timeline to sobbing fits. When you’re crying, there’s a point where you think to yourself “This is never going to end. I’m going to feel like this forever. My tears are never going to stop. I’m going to be sad for the rest of my life. I’m stuck here. I’m never going to smile again. I’ve laughed my last laugh. I’m never going to see another sunrise. I will never be happy again.” These thoughts always occur exactly as you pass the halfway point. Crying is a bit like grief that way.

Jack’s howls turned to keens and then to stuttering gasps. His entire body hurt from the force of the sobs that had wracked his frame. He felt very tired. He felt like he had released every feeling he had ever had. He didn’t feel empty though. He still had the stone in his stomach. He still felt like someone was squeezing his heart. When he looked up at Esther’s tear streaked face, he still felt unbelievably grateful that she had let him stay all those years ago and that she had stayed with him all this time.

“Thank you,” Jack said, hoping she understood what he meant.

“You don’t have to thank me, Jack,” Esther said, understanding him perfectly.

Sarah and Les and Mayer came home to see Jack cutting vegetables for supper. Les cheered and hugged him so suddenly that Jack only barely dropped the knife in time. Esther couldn't bring herself to admonish her youngest son’s enthusiasm. Sarah hugged him next, less enthusiastically but twice as hard. Then it was Mayer’s turn. He blew both his children out of the water.

They ate at the table together. Jack noticed they’d shifted the chairs so that the empty space wasn’t as noticeable. He was surprised to find he didn’t really mind the change.

Jack was moving forwards.

But he would never move on.

“I don’t think I will ever fall in love again,” he whispered to Sarah a few nights later.

“That’s okay,” Sarah whispered back. “You’ll always have us.”

Jack smiled and raised his arm. She cuddled in close and he tugged her even closer. He felt her breath slow and even against him.

He didn’t tell her he didn’t believe her. She didn’t need to hear that. It wasn’t her fault. Jack just didn’t believe in always anymore.


	2. The Journey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You will notice I have extended the chapter count. This is because I am a mess. I originally planned to format this like the novel (which, for interested parties, is itself 283 pages, 91426 words, and divided into eight sections instead of chapters). Then I made it so that there were two central romances, multiple sub-plots, and more intrigue than you can shake a stick at. And a lot of kissing. This is a definitely a kissing fic.
> 
> Anyways, that’s why you get monster-sized chapters. Good day and enjoy.

Love and uncertainty were far from done with Jack and Davey. However, being universal concepts, they were skilled multitaskers. They were also easily distracted. Besides, Jack and Davey did not require much minding at this point in their story. As such, love and uncertainty turned their attention to two young ladies instead.

..........

By all accounts, Sarah Jacobs was a very unnerving child.

It was partly due to the nature of her character, which she never grew out of. She had a shrewdness beyond her years. This would manifest in narrowed-eyed stares, which lingered long enough that the person subjected to them would twitch and shiver and fumble what they were holding. She had a burning sense of justice which was burned into the memories of offenders after she’d turn and shriek at them like a wild thing and then carry on with her day as soon as the matter was sorted. She was observant and empathetic. She could guess someone’s favourite treat without ever speaking to them. She had a can-do attitude. If she thought something ought to be done she’d do it. Sometimes these traits combined, leading her to do things like deliver someone their favourite treat on their doorstep after they’d done something she was impressed by, without warning or prior conversation.

It was partly by nature of her appearance, which she eventually grew into. She was gangly to the point that a normal walk looked precarious. She had long and easily-tangled hair, which tangled even more with all of her crawling in bramble patches and swimming in streams. She had her mother’s judgemental expression, and the combination of flattened lips and one arched brow looked absolutely wrong on the face of a child.

There was also the fact that her and her twin brother—mirror images until they turned twelve—enjoyed standing very close together and waving in unison to spook their neighbours.

Most of the villagers did not know what to make of her, until, one day, her father went around town asking if anyone had any books about miracles. Then it all came together. They happily passed over the few things they had and passed word to the few people they knew that might have had more. They contented themselves with the comfort that Sarah Jacobs was a singularly odd little girl who was going to make phenomenally good use of her oddities.

They did not imagine that she would also become one of the most beautiful women in the world.

This was really a lack of foresight on their part. Sarah’s mother Esther had always been high on the list. Of course, she had been struck off the day she turned forty because people are rather backwards about that sort of thing. Sarah favoured her mother’s appearance but had her father’s warmer colouring. As the years passed by, Sarah Jacobs grew up. She grew into her limbs. Her face stretched. Her figure filled out. She braided her hair. She tempered her temper. Between the ages of eighteen and nineteen she managed to go from being the twenty-eighth most beautiful woman in the world to the ninth—an unheard-of climb even by today’s standards.

Sarah Jacobs did not know about any of this, of course—if anyone had tried to tell her she would have laughed in their face. She also, frankly, did not care. She was going to be a miracle worker. While being beautiful was certainly nice and made a great many things in life easier, miracle working was not one of them. With her focus being what it was, Sarah Jacobs developed dark circles from reading late into the night. She scarred up her legs climbing trees. She callused her hands grinding poultices. She dirtied her nails picking herbs. She gradually slipped down in the rankings.

Then she’d heard that her brother had been violently murdered and foolishly grieved herself out of any chance of becoming the most beautiful woman in the world.

(It is at this point that I must remind you that the makers and managers of this list were conceited and hypocritical old men who should never have been trusted with the job, much less invented it in the first place.)

In any case, Sarah Jacobs settled and stalled somewhere between twelve and eighteen. No one would ever start a war in her honour. No one would throw over their fiancée for a glimpse of her smile. She would never be anyone’s muse. But she was certainly pretty enough to be a lady-in-waiting without any prior experience.

At least, that was what the Count thought as she approached the table to pay her family’s taxes.

“Here are our taxes,” she said as she handed over the pouch of coins.

“Would you like a job?” he said as he took it.

She pressed her lips together and raised one of her brows. It was not an attractive expression, but he was sure she could learn not to make it.

“I would like to be a miracle worker,” she said.

The Count tried very hard not to laugh in her face. It was quite an effort because the Count was not used to not doing what he wanted to do.

Miracle workers were very rare. It required a great deal of training and skill and some other quality no one was really sure what to call. To be chosen to become a miracle worker was the third most prestigious honour in the kingdom, behind impressing the King, making the Princess laugh uproariously, and surprising the owner of the tavern just north of the Thieves’ Forest. Such an honour was not bestowed on just anybody. It certainly wasn’t offered to country girls. Country girls were widely known to be the stupidest girls in the kingdom.

(It is at this point I must remind you that the Count did not talk to many people who visited the country, much less any country girls themselves.)

“The castle already has a miracle worker.” He replied, lip twitching. “We don’t have enough ladies-in-waiting.”

The country girl—who we know to be the intelligent, empathetic, and shrewd Sarah Jacobs—tilted her head and said: “I will need some time to think about it. How soon do you need my answer?”

The Count—who did not know her to be the intelligent, empathetic, and shrewd Sarah Jacobs— once again had to force down a laugh at the idea of a country girl _thinking_ , and said: “Tomorrow night, or else I ride back without you.”

She nodded, curtsied, and walked back to where a very handsome and very glum young man was waiting for her.

The Count hoped they were not married. He had very few requirements for the new lady-in-waiting. She was the closest he’d come to hitting all of them. It would be a great deal of trouble if he had to kill her husband in order to have her meet the last one.

..........

The next morning, one of the guards roused the Count from bed and told him that a very pretty woman had come to the outskirts of their camp and was asking to speak with him.

The Count got up. He grumbled about farm schedules and stupid country girls. Then he got dressed, stepped out into the chilly morning, grumbled some more, put on his jacket, and walked to the entrance to the camp.

He had assumed right; the very pretty country girl was waiting for him beside the King’s banner.

“I will take the job on two conditions,” she said as soon as he stopped in front of her.

“Name them,” said the Count.

“My family comes with me. They will be protected on the journey. I will have the time and ability to help them settle in the city. I will be allowed to negotiate my schedule with my superior to ensure I can visit them with as much regularity as my job allows and as my faith and duty requires.” she said first.

“And I suppose you want me to employ them as well,” the Count said tiredly.

She shook her head. “Only if you desire. They are skilled enough to find work on their own.”

If it were later in the day, these stipulations would have made the Count realize that this country girl was not stupid at all and that, actually, she was smart, potentially dangerous, and absolutely not, under no circumstances, someone to be trifled with.

Unfortunately for him, the Count was not a morning person. He simply said: “Fine. Give me numbers. Parents?”

“Two,” she said.

“Siblings?” he asked.

“Two,” she said.

If it were later in the day, he also would have heard her voice catch on this number.

“Grandparents?”

“No.”

“Aunts? Uncles?”

“No and no.”

“Cousins, distant relatives, nephews twice removed?”

“No, no, and no.”

“Husband?” he asked.

“No,” she said.

 _Oh good,_ he thought.

“Very well,” he said. “And your second condition?”

“When I am not performing my duties to my lady, I will be allowed to study miracles and train under the miracle worker.”

 _She’s really stuck on that,_ he thought.

What he said was: “The miracle worker will do what he wants with his spare time and you can do what you want with your spare time. I won’t agree to anything more than that.”

The girl frowned and nodded. “That’s fair. Alright; I will take the job.”

“Be ready to leave tomorrow morning,” the Count said, then he turned around and went back to his tent, leaving the girl behind.

The girl, meanwhile, did not leave. Instead, the girl called over a very burly guard. The guard came immediately—a fact which he only thought to ponder three hours later.

“My family and I are to accompany you on the trip back to the city,” she said to him. “We have not travelled such a distance in many years. We will require assistance to ready ourselves for the journey.”

“What.” said the guard.

The girl flattened her lips and raised a brow. “In order to ensure a punctual departure, we will need to arrange this rather quickly. Our horse and cart are not suitable for such a distance. Do you have any others which we can use?”

“Uh…” said the guard. “I don’t… know? I’m sorry. I’m just a guard.”

Her face softened. “That is quite alright. Is there someone else I can discuss such matters with?”

“Yeah.” said the guard. “Yeah, sure, Miss. I’ll go get someone.” He turned to do so, then, remembering, turned back, held up his hand, and said: “Wait here.”

“Alright,” she said. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Miss,” the guard said, and went back to where his fellow guards were watching curiously.

Before we continue, it is important that you understand the nature of the guarding profession. Don’t worry; it isn’t too complicated. Really, guards only have two official duties. The first is standing around (usually in a flanking or surrounding manner, but willy-nilly is not too uncommon) and looking imposing. The second is laying down one’s life for the protection of those they are sworn to protect. Those in the guarding profession quickly figured out that if they were particularly good at the first part of their job, they would rarely have to perform the second part of their job. Employers also realized that hiring imposing guards meant a lower turnover rate and fewer rude awakenings at knife-point. As a result, the hiring process became dominated by aesthetic concerns.

This isn’t to say guards were no longer _skilled._ Looking intimidating is itself a skill—most do not have the disposition to look menacing for hours and very few have the constitution to stand at the ready and look menacing for hours. In addition, guards were expected to be very skilled in combat. The guards in this kingdom specifically were also surprisingly good at crisis management.

This _is_ to say that the guards had to develop _other_ skills. When the majority of one’s job is standing around and looking menacing to passersby, one has to be able to stave off boredom. As such, guards were expected to be able to entertain themselves. They also had to maintain amiable relationships with their fellow guards. Both often took shape through inside jokes, odd nicknames, and friendly banter.

Please keep this in mind.

“What was that, Mush?” asked the guard with the odd and somewhat offensive name Kid Blink (he had an eye-patch).

“She’s coming with us. Her family needs help,” said the guard with the improbable name of Mush, who had been talking to the girl. “Who do we talk to about that?”

“Why do we need to talk to anyone about that? That’s not our job,” asked the guard with the compelling name of Sniper—a name which was undermined by the fact that she did not carry any ranged weapons.

The guard named (no I am not making this up) Mush blinked and frowned. “Well, I’m not telling her that. She’d be disappointed.”

“Why does that matter?” Asked the guard who for some reason was named Sniper even though she clearly fought with a sword.

The guard named (why would I lie about this?) Mush shrugged. “I don’t know. It just does. I just don’t want to.”

“Don’t want to what?” asked Kid Blink, his eye narrowing (look, if it makes you feel better, he did like his nickname). “Disappoint her or tell her?”

Mush gave him a thumbs up. “Yes.”

They all turned around to look at the girl. The girl looked back at them and waved.

“Denton?” Kid Blink asked.

“Denton could work,” Sniper agreed.

They went off to get their captain.

..........

Sarah Jacobs arrived home just as her mother finished making breakfast. She was accompanied by the three guards, who she now knew as Mush, Kid Blink, and Sniper. She was also accompanied by their captain, Sir Denton, five weedy squires, two harried drivers, one sizable wagon pulled by a draft horse, and one smaller wagon pulled by a smaller draft horse.

Esther saw them coming over the hill. She shook her head, and set out more mugs, thankful she had made three pots of tea that morning.

..........

They had discussed the opportunity over supper the previous night.

It had begun like this:

“I’ve been offered a position as a lady-in-waiting,” Sarah said absently. “I would like to take the job so that we can all move to the city together. We have until tomorrow night to decide and we need to be ready to leave the next morning.”

Her mother had set down her utensils in shock. Jack had looked at her blankly. Her father had choked on his water.

Les had said: “But I was going to catch frogs tomorrow!”

The conversation continued from there.

After some discussion, a lot of significant glances, and a few tears, the Jacobs arrived at the same conclusion: the time for them to leave the village was fast approaching. It was better that they take the opportunity now rather than try to make their own later.

That evening, Sarah went to her room and planned out how she would ensure her family’s security in addition to her own. Mayer went around the village letting their neighbours know what was happening and settled any outstanding affairs. Les went off to settle his own affairs at the pond. Esther went around the house and wrapped up the valuables in rags, storing them in the wooden box that held what they had left of their eldest son. By the time the Jacobs household was overrun with guards and squires and drivers, their important belongings had already been packed away and they were in the process of packing up the rest. They had resigned themselves to the truth and readied themselves for the change.

Jack was a little slower on the uptake.

“Okay, explain this to me one more time,” he said as he threw his clothes into a pile.

It was the fifth time he’d said those exact words.

Sarah sighed. “I got offered a job as a lady-in-waiting—probably because I am pretty and probably because they think I’m dumb.”

“You’re not dumb, though,” he said.

“They’ll figure that out eventually,” she replied with a shrug. “But, anyways: I’ve taken the job so we are moving to the city”

“And I’m coming,” he checked.

She nodded. “And you’re coming.”

“And I don’t get a choice in this,” he checked.

“You wouldn’t choose otherwise,” she said matter-of-factly.

Sarah had always been quite similar to her brother. It was a similarity that unobservant people often confused for identicality. Accusations of physical identicality had dropped off after their personal appearance deviated but held fast with regards to their personalities. However, just as with their appearance, their personalities were similar but not the same. They both were very intelligent, which Sarah wanted to use to help people and which David wanted to use to help people understand. They both cared deeply, which led Sarah to chastise others to ensure they learned and which led David to bite his tongue for fear of offending. They both had a strong sense of responsibility, which would have led Sarah to never follow her dreams for fear of leaving her family unsupported, and which led David to set off on a voyage he never wanted to take that eventually led to his painful death.

As you can see, the application of their traits was where the deviation usually occurred.

As another example; they both had a knack for saying things with resounding self-assurance. They went about it differently, though. David had always had a way of saying things that made them sound like they were certain—like they were facts, like the world should not dare to disprove him. Sarah had a way of saying things that made them sound matter-of fact—like they were irrefutable, an absolute given, and that you were a little bit stupid for not realizing it yourself. Matter-of-fact worked just as well as certain, but it inspired a lot more eye-rolls.

As such, Jack rolled his eyes and said: “Well… okay, yeah. But still; what the hell are you gonna do as a lady-in-waiting?”

“The job isn’t the important part,” Sarah said. “The location of the job is.”

“The castle?” Jack asked.

“Which is in…?”

Jack glared at her. “The city?”

“Very good.”

“Why is that important?” Jack asked.

“Because then we can all move to the city.”

Sarah was not one for providing additional details when she did not think it absolutely necessary. She was not the best judge of when it was necessary.

“Sarah,” Jack said with a sigh. “Why– please just stop for a minute,” he said, catching her arms as she reached to fix his pile of clothes. He pulled her to sit on the edge of the bed, close enough that their knees were brushing. “Why are you doing this, Sarah?”

She sighed. “I am doing this for all of us,” she said. “We’ll be happier in the city. There is more for us there.”

The words reminded Jack of a cloudy spring morning, a bit over a year-and-a-half ago. It felt ages away. It felt like yesterday. “You sound like him.”

“I know,” she said. “I’m doing this for him too. David is gone.” She said it softly, but Jack still flinched. She took his hands in hers, letting the contact temper the harsh blow of truth. “David is gone so I am going to make sure his dreams for our family come true. And I am going to make sure the dreams he had for the two of you come as close to true as they can.”

Jack was very quiet. Then, in a voice so quiet it was barely more than a thought, he asked: “He told you about his dreams for us?”

“He told everybody,” Sarah said matter-of-factly.

(He did.)

Jack was very quiet. He looked out at the walls of the bedroom he’d been sharing with her for the last year. Sarah had never told him that her and David had shared that same room for years. She worried such knowledge was too much for Jack to bear. She worried it was too soon for him to bear it. Neither were uncommon thoughts; those long months of silent tears and lost eyes led Sarah to worry about Jack quite often. It was difficult not to. While Jack had come through it feeling like he had managed to hold on, Sarah felt like she had watched him almost slip away.

She squeezed his hands. He squeezed back. The gesture still felt a little foreign to Sarah after all the times she’d comforted him and gotten no response. Some feelings fade into nothing and some feelings fade into hazy memories. Grief is the latter. This is mainly because grief has many side effects which only reveal themselves with reminders.

“We won’t be coming back, will we?” he asked.

“We could,” she said.

“We won’t though.” He said back.

She paused and thought about it. “No. We won’t.”

Jack nodded. “We’ll be better?”

Sarah squeezed his hands. “I think so.”

He squeezed back.

“I’m going to go say goodbye,” Jack said quietly, standing up from the bed.

“They’re going to give each of us a replica of the headstone tonight,” Sarah said. “Small ones. You have to act surprised when they give them to us.”

“I will,” Jack promised.

“We were going to go later,” she said. “As a family.”

“I know,” he said. “I’ll come then too. I just… I think I want a moment alone.”

Sarah nodded. She’d done the same earlier that morning. “Wear your coat,” she commanded. “It’s chilly.”

“Yes Ma’am,” he said, saluting her almost as cleanly as one of the guards that were loading their life onto wagons saluted their captain. It was a silly gesture for a silly moment.

Not silly as in silly-funny, of course. It was silly in silly-should-know-better.

There are some lies you tell yourself to make it through the day—such lies include “if I finish this then I can relax” and “tomorrow is always better”. Similarly, there are some things you know to be true that you never admit to yourself. There are some things that are true that you can never admit to others. To admit them out loud allows them to go from being suppositions to being facts. It makes them real.

David was not in the ground beneath his headstone. David was not in the cemetery. They had no idea where David was except that he was not there. Sarah and Jack both knew this. They both thought about it frequently. Neither of them ever said it out loud.

..........

The Jacobs family left on a late autumn day in the early morning. The air was cold enough that their breath came out to form little clouds. Besides these the skies were clear. The fields were cast in sepia and the rising sun turned them to gold. The glare made the villagers squint. The entire village had come to see them off. People leaving was always an event. People leaving permanently was a spectacle. This time, though, the crowd was there for the Jacobs because they were the Jacobs, not because the Jacobs were leaving.

Mayer spoke on behalf of the family: “We have treasured the moments we spent here. We thank you for helping us grow. We thank you for caring for us when we hurt. We came to this village for safety and we found security. We will continue to treasure the memories we hold of you all and will tell your stories to all we meet. Thank you for all you have given us. I can only hope we have done enough to repay your generosity.”

(He was known as the well-spoken delivery man for a reason.)

“I will miss you dearly,” “said the rabbi, “but I will not miss you outdoing my services.”

Goodbyes went as they always do: a little sad, a little hopeful, with promises of letters that both parties knew would not be written, and full of things unsaid that would only occur two hours too late.

When the time came, the sun a little higher in the sky, the Jacobs hopped onto the back of the smaller wagon, which Mush had fashioned into a surprisingly comfortable seating area using a few of their chests, blankets, and pillows. They waved goodbye to their now-former neighbours and then they rolled down the Village Road, feeling the wheels bump along the unpaved path.

“Goodbye Village,” Les said quietly, cuddling against his father, thinking of spring afternoons running after his siblings, the fort his parents had helped him build in his bedroom, and his favourite spots to go adventuring.

“Goodbye Village,” Mayer said quietly, tightening his arms around Les, thinking of dancing with his wife around the living room, of how hard he’d laughed the first time David hit his head on the doorframe, and how the village still shone in the light like it had the first time he’d seen it on the horizon.

“Goodbye Village,” Esther said quietly, squeezing her husband’s knee and her daughter’s hand, thinking about how long it had taken for her to stop looking over her shoulder in the village square, the smile of happy customers, and beam in the middle of the living room that was scarred with scratches that tracked how her children had grown.

“Goodbye Village,” Sarah said quietly, squeezing her mother’s hand and leaning against Jack’s side, thinking about the bramble patches she used to tangle her hair in, and summer days spent studying, and how she had never appreciated how pretty the houses looked against the clear blue.

“Goodbye Village,” Jack said quietly, tightening his arm around Sarah, thinking of how different it had looked the last time he’d seen it on the horizon, thinking of the people around him and the man who wasn’t who had transformed it from a moment’s rest to a home.

They watched the houses disappear over the horizon. They met up with the rest of the camp. They felt the road even beneath them. Far away and getting farther, the villagers carried on with their day and their lives.

Soon enough, the Jacobs did the same, though now they had to face the fact that their lives were going to look—and were already becoming—very different.

Mayer immediately endeared himself to the guards with his good humour and shared stories. Ever a quick study of companionship, he quickly grew to understand—or, at least, comprehend—their odd jokes. He also made himself useful during stops, helping to set up tents and fires, befriending and getting group packages at inns, and somehow managing to convince the grizzled cook to put more salt in his stews. The salt alone was enough to make him a favourite of the guards.

He had nothing on his son.

By the end of the first week, Les Jacobs had more people sworn to protect him than the Count did. Sir Denton did not reprimand his troops for this fact. He couldn’t. He was the one who’d agreed to teach Les fencing.

Esther, Jack, and Sarah trailed after Les and Mayer. Or perhaps Les and Mayer pulled them into the fray. It’s never really clear whether affection pushes you past your comfort zone or drags you out of it.

In any case, Les would trip over his feet and scrape up his knees and Esther would swoop in and embarrass him. Then she would turn to the guards and calmly ask what had happened.

It’s difficult to describe the effect Esther Jacobs had on people. She could not be described as a friendly person. She was pleasant, yes, but she was not affable. It took her years to feel comfortable enough with someone to drop her carefully crafted veneer of cool geniality. She did not make friends easily. She earned respect in a heartbeat. There was something in her manner that made people want to impress her, that made people stand straighter under her eye, that made people lower their voice to talk to her.

It all sounds rather grand, but what it meant was that, within a fortnight, under the compulsion of her quirked brow and flat lipped looks, the guards had almost completely stopped swearing in front of her and Les.

She had never _said_ anything about it, of course, so she never thanked them. The hours of work she did repairing their clothes and adorning their things with embroidery was to pass the time. She did like it when they blushed and stammered their thanks, though. She thought that was rather sweet and very funny.

When Esther wasn’t there, Jack was. The weeks of travel returned Jack to his former duty as Les’s follower. He didn’t perform his duties with the same eagerness as before, of course—he’d regained a lot of things but eagerness had yet to return to him—but he did it with care. Sarah followed as Jack’s follower. The two often sat on the edge of their wagon and watched Les run the guards ragged, making bets under their breath as to which guard would be the first to slip on the frost (it was Mush, Sarah won) and who would be the first to swear and draw Esther’s ire (it was Sniper, Jack won).

Funny thing about watching people, though, is that people are often watching you too.

“Are you two in love?” Les asked Mush and Kid Blink over one of their many shared suppers.

“Yep,” Kid Blink said.

Mush smiled at him… well, mushily.

“Ew,” Les said.

“How long have you been together?” Sarah asked.

“Oh…” Mush counted it out on his hand—recalling the odd conversations and moments that marked the passage of time in the indeterminate expanse of memory. “Seven years, I think?”

“Six years and nine months,” Kid Blink corrected.

“Wow!” Les said. “That’s more than half of me!”

“Hey, I feel old now!” Mush said, ruffling Les’s hair.

“You are old,” Sniper put in.

“Shush,” Kid Blink said, elbowing her side. “The adults are talking.”

Les looked between them all, with a level of confusion only attainable by children forced to see what their humour will degrade to after their teenage years. “But aren’t you…?”

Sniper nodded forlornly.

“Until you came along, _she_ was the youngest,” Mush explained in a loud whisper.

“You have my undying gratitude,” Sniper said, “and my deepest sympathy.”

“How about you two?” Mush asked.

“Who?” Sarah asked before taking a mouthful of stew.

Mush pointed between her and Jack. “You two lovebirds. You must be looking forward to getting to the city—maybe move into your own place.”

Sarah choked on her mouthful of stew.

“Oh _shit!_ ” Sniper said.

“What was that?” Esther called over.

Sniper’s eyes went wide. “Nothing, Mrs. Jacobs.”

“I thought so,” Esther said, returning to her conversation with Denton.

Through her coughing and streaming tears, Sarah choked out: “We’re not– he’s _not–_ ”

“Sorry, my mistake,” Mush said, mouth twitching. “You’re just really close. Sitting together. Whispering to each other all the time and stuff.”

“They’re not,” Les said quietly. “Jack was sweet on David.”

He said the name like it was a tragedy. In a way it was.

“Who’s David?” Kid Blink asked.

“My brother,” Les said, wiping his eyes.

“Where’s…” Kid Blink started to say.

“Gone,” Jack interrupted. “Excuse me, I need to–” Jack stood up and left before he had to finish the sentence.

They all watched him go, disappearing into the darkness of the late fall evening.

“I’m gonna go eat with Mama,” Les said, leaping up to leave the uncomfortable silence, leaving his bowl behind.

They didn’t watch him go. The three guards were looking at Sarah. Sarah was looking at the ground.

“How long?” Kid Blink asked.

“We found out in late winter—or I guess early spring, depending on your perspective.” Sarah answered.

“Found out?” Sniper asked.

“His ship ran into the Dread Pirate Morris when they were returning to harbour.”

Sniper grimaced. “I’m sorry.”

“May his memory be a blessing,” Mush said quietly.

Sarah tried for a smile. It hung on to her lips tenuously. “Thank you. It is. Jack just…”

“Needs time,” Mush finished for her.

“Yeah,” Sarah agreed, hoping it was true. She looked over to where Jack was probably curled up in their wagon. “They were… they were in love.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mush grab Kid Blink’s hand.

Shrouded by the pitch-black night, unseen and alone, Jack leaned his head against a small wooden chest and traced the edges with his palm.

..........

There was a strict and simple schedule for their cross-kingdom road/trail trip. The guards and the Jacobs would rise at dawn, packing up the tents if they had been forced to camp, settling affairs with the innkeepers if they had timed their day’s travel well enough to stop in a larger town, and profusely thanking their hosts if they had timed their day’s travel expertly enough to reach a noble person's tower. The Count would rise when he rose and they would set off soon after. They would ride until they reached their next stop or until the sun was low on the horizon. Then, depending on their timing, they set up camp, organized themselves into the inn, or flattered their obliging noble host beyond belief.

During the day, the Jacobs mostly stayed in their wagon. Les sometimes rode with the guards, switching horses every day so that no one felt left out. Esther did her sewing or reading. Mayer talked to the guards and whittled. Sarah read when she could, watched Jack draw when she felt too sick to do so, and looked out to the horizon when she felt too sick to even do that. Jack, as mentioned, drew. His sketchbook tracked the change in the terrain, from rolling fields to heavy thickets to rocky outcrops to raging rivers. They chatted. They visited. They got very sore and grumpy. They lived with it.

They rode past farmers in their field, reaping the decay of the dying world and bundling it up into bushels and bags to sell at local markets. The harvest season waned and winter was close at its heels. Each day brought colder weather, smoother roads, and more sights to see.

Sometimes they would ask the guards about the various sights. The guards did their best to answer.

“Those are the Cliffs of Insanity,” Sniper said to Les’s question. “I think. Last I heard Florin was trying to get the King to change the name so that people would stop getting confused between their Cliffs of Insanity and ours. It’s pretty stupid. I mean, they’re the ones that want them to be different so they should change the name, right? Huh? Oh, they’re called that because they’re really fu– um, they’re really _stinking_ steep and tall. It’s insane. So.”

“That’s the edge of the fire swamp,” Kid Blink said to Sarah’s question. “Yeah, it has moon sand. Yep, lightning sand too. Sure, there’s one in Florin. Yeah, Gilder’s got one. They might be connected. Probably because of the fire. What do you mean ‘on purpose’?”

“That’s the Silent River,” Mush said to Jack’s question. “It’s said when folks first started living out here, they would listen to the water to quiet their worries—put things in perspective, remind themselves there’s more to the world than whether they got the seeds out a day early or a day late. This river stretches all the way across the kingdom and out to the… well, hey. Try taking a deep breath in. You smell that? That’s the sea. The river goes all the way there. Not far off now. You know we’re getting close to the end of the journey when the sea is on the air. Means we’re close to the city. You know, there’s thousands of ships that come into harbour every day, bringing in goods with rich smells and flavours and new incredible sights and sounds, but nothing ever beats the call of the sea, the thrashing waves and, wait… uh… sorry?”

After accidentally brushing against the gaping wound of David’s demise, the guards were careful to avoid any reference to the topic. It was a clumsy attempt that made Esther and Sarah roll their eyes, led Les to look at them like they were ridiculous, and forced Mayer to stifle laughs. Jack felt it was rudely coddling. He did not tell them to stop.

In addition to learning much more about the Kingdom’s various natural formations, the Jacobs learned about their travel companions.

Sniper Hua was the sort of woman you walked by without a second thought and looked on in fear when she approached you. She was short and broad-shouldered, arms threaded with muscles. She had glossy black hair which she often pulled back in a tightly braided crown. Her features were close-set and arranged in such a way that it always looked like she was judging people. Most of the time she was.

Sarah and Sniper got on like a house on fire.

Now, much of Sniper could be discerned from her appearance. Broad shoulders and wiry build? Athletic, strong, a force to be reckoned with. All that and barely taller than five feet? She had something to prove and she had to prove it over and over. And a few more times just to be sure. Her broad shoulders had a lot of chips.

As the days turned to weeks and questions turned to conversations and then to commiserations and even to confidences, they learned what could not be discerned from her appearance.

Most pertinent to Les was the fact that Sniper could shoot a bottle off Mush’s head from ten yards away with an acorn and a slingshot and not brush a single curl (see: Sniper. I told you I wasn’t lying).

Most pertinent to Mayer was that Sniper had a weakness for truly terrible— _terrible_ —puns. Mayer considered terrible puns a speciality of his. He was right.

Most pertinent to Esther was the fact that Sniper was barely eighteen and expected to defend them, which she took as a personal affront and challenge as to how much comforting she could push on the girl before she noticed. Sniper, meanwhile, took it as a personal affront that Esther was in her forties and could not properly defend herself, which she took as a challenge as to how much she could tail Esther during their stops before she noticed. The failed attempts at subtly canceled each other out, and each was increasingly protected and comforted, feeling very clever while being none the wiser.

Sarah and Jack, meanwhile, both agreed that the most important thing to be gleaned from Sniper was the fact that she had a deep crush on the castle cook’s apprentice. Jack appreciated it because it was nice to hear about young love that was new and had not yet ended in marriage or tragedy. Sarah appreciated it because of how flustered Sniper got the minute it was brought up. Sarah also appreciated it because Sniper had a fair amount of information about the place that she was about to be employed in.

“It’s big,” Sniper warned her. “They’re gonna give you a tour and it won’t help one bit. Give yourself fifteen minutes at least to get somewhere, even if they tell you a room is just across the hall. There’s a lot of halls. And stairs. And doors.”

“What about the miracle worker?” Sarah asked—she really was stuck on that.

Sniper shrugged. “I haven’t met him yet, so I can’t say.”

Sniper had a lot of information about the _place_ Sarah was about to be employed in. She had next to no information about the people she was about to be employed by or with.

Mush, meanwhile, had that sort of information in droves.

“Now, I’ve only met the Princess a few times, but I’d say, and other people agree with me, that she’s a good sort. King’s kind of… curmudgeony? I don’t think that’s a word but it’s accurate. And you’ll be working with Hannah a lot—she’s great—and Medda—she’s _wonderful._ ”

“What about the miracle worker?” Sarah asked, still stuck.

“Huh… I don’t think I’ve met him,” Mush said. “But I think Henry’s met him—Henry’s the cook’s apprentice. You know, Sniper’s beau. He’s the _best_ , except that he’s the most oblivious person in the entire universe. We’ve got a bet going as to how long it will take him to notice Sniper’s smitten with him. You want in on the action?”

A few things learned about Mush during the journey: he had a kind word to say about everyone, he knew more stories than could fit in any book, he was easily amused, he made up his own words, he loved Kid Blink deeply and openly. They also learned he was a very good guard. A _very_ good guard. Most of the time.

Mush was tall and heavy-set. He had thick dark brows, a strong square jaw, and drooping eyes. All of these together meant that when he put on his helmet and frowned, he intimidated the hell out people. But then he’d take his helmet off, revealing his protruding ears, bouncy curls, and smile. Mush smiled at strangers like he’d known them his whole life.

In Mush’s annual performance review, Denton wrote the following:

_By all accounts, Mr. Meyers is an incredibly skilled guard. He will go down as the greatest guard in history so long as we immediately ban any and all cute animals, happy children, doting old people, and particularly bright plants from passing by the castle gates._

Kid Blink contrasted his husband in almost every way. He was wiry and pale. His platinum blond hair was permanently unkempt. His face was often twisted into a scowl. He had a wary disposition. He was terse. He was solitary. He loved Mush deeply and quietly.

The real breakthrough to getting to know Kid Blink was realizing that his wariness, silence, and terseness weren’t signs of bad feelings. It was just his usual state. Kid Blink was in the exact right field of work for his nature. Still, even he was susceptible to breaking his solemnity when Sniper fell into a fit of giggles at Les’s cheerful and misremembered repetition of Mayer’s latest terrible joke.

Once they realized his distance was not caused by malice, they were also impressed to discover that his wariness and quiet meant that he had quite a bit of insight into the kingdom.

“Denton seems very… nice,” Jack said, testing his read against Kid Blink’s.

“He’s great,” Kid Blink said.

“The Count doesn’t seem very nice,” Sarah muttered.

“He’s an asshole,” Kid Blink said.

Again: terse.

Sarah did not ask Kid Blink about the miracle worker. By this point she had given up her inquiries. Her mistake.

Instead, as the wind began to carry the occasional snowflake, the Jacobs turned their attention to the castle that peaked over the horizon.

“What’s it like?” Les asked Sniper.

“What’s what like?” she said in return—Sniper liked to confirm questions before she answered.

“The castle,” Les clarified. “And the city. Life. Things. Anything,”

With that confirmed, Sniper did her best: “The castle is big and fancy and easy to get lost in. The city is busy and also easy to get lost in but you’re more likely to find people to help you find your way. I guess life is overall just getting lost and finding your way eventually. It’s complicated but pretty neat. And… well, I guess anything is anything.”

“It is,” Les agreed. By that time he’d gotten bored of her answer. He launched into a series of questions about slingshots which she felt much better equipped to answer.

The occasional wind-blown snowflake turned into gusts and light flurries, and the Jacobs watched the city growing on the horizon.

“What should we expect?” Sarah asked.

“We’ll be there in five days,” Kid Blink said. “We’ll go in through the main gate.”

“The main gate?” Les asked.

“The city is walled,” Kid Blink said. Though he did not say it, his tone rang with the echo of _of course_. In fairness, most cities were walled at that time and he had seen enough cities that it did not seem particularly special

Mush explained further: “It is very tall and sturdy. Folks say that you get an hour less of daylight in the city—the sun disappears behind the wall long before it disappears over the horizon. And there are towers within the wall but they’re not much taller than the wall itself. They’re not like the castle towers, which are _very_ tall. And they don’t have turrets. They’re more of a defensive measure. There’s a lot of fortifications and stuff that are pretty impressive really–”

“You don’t need to worry about that,” Kid Blink said.

“Right,” Mush agreed. “So we go through the main gate in the wall and then we’ll head down the main road. It should look nice when we get there—they’ve probably had a good amount of snow by now so it’ll look like the houses have white blankets.”

Kid Blink smiled. “They know what snow looks like, Mush.”

“Shush you,” Mush chided. “They might’ve seen snow, but they’ve never seen snow _in the city._ ”

Mush said such things often. Things like: _You had markets, sure, but I doubt they were like the markets in the city_. Or: _If you like spice you’ll love the food in the city._ Or: _If you thought the view of the clouds were good in your village you’ll love looking at the smoke plumes in the city._ Mush was pretty biased.

Still, despite Mush’s frequent enthusiastic claims the Jacobs were not prepared for what awaited them.

They arrived midday, the sky hazy, snow on the ground. The wall stretched before them. It was taller than they expected. It was taller than anything they had seen. Jack thought it might even be taller now than it had been when he’d left. The guards at the head of the company called out to the guards atop the wall. The gate creaked open. They entered.

Their eyes widened. Their mouths fell open.

It was crowded. People darted in and out of the street. Heads poked out of windows, children ran up and along with the wagon, waving. It was noisy. A man on the corner yelled sensational stories. Traders called out their wares. People argued and chatted and laughed and hollered, in many volumes, in many accents, in many languages. The buildings were densely packed. Some looked similar, some stuck out like sore thumbs. They passed a street filled with woodworkers—each sign intricately carved—and a street filled with blacksmiths—each sign intricately embossed. The castle overlooked it all, a sentential on the hilltop. As Mush predicted, the city was blanketed with snow. The sun glittered off of it, so that the streets were at one grimy and sparking.

Mayer was stunned to silence as each glance brought with it something new. Esther shrunk back as they rode through a crowded intersection. Les covered his ears as they passed a fervent street vendor. Sarah rubbed her eyes as the sun glared off the castle windows. It was an affront on the senses.

Mush let his horse slow until their wagon caught up to him. Looking down from his mount, he asked: “So, what do you think?”

“David would have loved it,” Jack said.

Mush smiled. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jack said. He cleared his throat. “He always wanted to move here. Meet new people. Learn lots. He was gonna study languages so that he could help people understand each other better.”

“He sounds like a pretty great guy.”

Jack smiled, small and bright and warm, eyes damp. “He was.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Sarah saw her father wipe away a tear.

Soon the time came for the Jacobs to part from the party. They waved goodbye to their new friends, Les demanding that they come visit often and reminding them of all the things they promised to teach him. The guards waved back, promised that they’d see Sarah soon and the others as soon as they could, and carried on off to the castle.

The Jacobs carried on too, through the shop lined streets, past inns, past market stalls, past tall houses, short houses, and, finally, rolled to a stop.

“Here we are,” said the driver. “You’re on the third floor. We’ll help you get your stuff up.”

The Jacobs were barely listening. They stepped off the waggon, pins and needles shooting up their legs after sitting for so long, and looked at the building before them.

All of the tenements in the city were quite similar. They were two or three levels tall. The outer walls were plastered white with dark timbers cutting through to make it look like someone had taken a drawing in which the architect had forgotten to get rid of their extra lines and replicated it exactly. They had high peaked roofs—the purpose of which was immediately obvious, as the shingles were laden with snow. Each window had a box beneath it and twin shutters beside it. There were a few variations, of course. Some houses were unlined. Some had forgone the shutters. Some had been boldly painted beige.

The Jacobs were not comparing the building to those beside it. All they could notice was that it was probably three-and-a-half times the size of their old house. The roof looked sturdier. The walls had more cracks. The walls of their old house were heavy stone and grey-brown clay. It had the same colour as the dirt that surrounded it, the dirt in which they’d grown their food and turned into mud pies and tracked around the house. Though plain, the colour had been inviting. The house may have not always been warm but it always looked warm. This building looked stark and cold. Their house might have been lopsided in form but it was well-maintained. This building was perfect in form but was not cared for.

“Well,” Jack said, “good thing I brought my plaster.”

Esther burst out laughing.

They tromped up the stairs, carrying what they could. They did so many more times, each trip more cumbersome than the last. Their neighbours stepped out to see what the thumping was and stepped in to help. When everything had been unloaded from the wagons, they drivers bid them farewell, the neighbours bid them goodnight, and they surveyed the floor that was to be their home.

“This will do nicely,” Mayer said as he checked the roof for leaks.

“We’ll make do,” Esther said as she opened a creaky cabinet drawer.

Sarah found the plates and cutlery and napkins while Esther dug out the pots and pans. Jack went off to the market and returned after an hour with his arms full, a frenzied look in his eyes, and assertions that “that was much worse than it was when I was a kid, I swear.”

They ate their meal on blankets and pillows in front of the roaring fire, laughing at how they spent so long getting to the house only to eat like they’d eaten every night of the trip. They toasted to Sarah’s new position and made her swear she’d come home every Friday and Saturday— “And perhaps Sunday as well; I can’t imagine they’ll need you on Sunday.” They discussed the workshops they’d seen on the way in and where Esther should start making inquiries about embroidery work. They encouraged Mayer to reach out to their neighbours to see about teaching opportunities. They brainstormed spots Jack should go to draw and paint where he would have good views while being in the view of interested buyers. They each took turns making Les swear up and down he wouldn’t go wandering. They looked around the house that didn’t yet feel like home and wondered when they’d stop listening for the sound of rustling fields and chirping birds. They stayed up far too late. They worried and fretted and dreamed and imagined. They began the long and arduous task of settling.

..........

The morning dawned and Esther woke Sarah up with a sharp prod and a wet comb. After a good deal of fussing, Sarah deemed herself presentable. After far more fussing, Esther deemed her presentable. By the time she was ready and leaving the rest of the family was up. They all watched her go down the path to greatness, which now looked like a dirty road lined with tightly packed buildings.

Sarah arrived at the castle gates exactly ten minutes prior to when she was expected. She said hello to Mush, who broke his intimidating reticence with a cheerful wave. He left his post, immediately replaced by another guard, and took her in through the gates to a large empty room—the walls the same white-washed stone as the exterior.

“Wait here,” he instructed, before going through the second door and into the castle.

Sarah had counted seven hundred and thirty five stones in the wall by the time Mush returned. He was accompanied by a middle-aged woman of average height with very orange hair.

In the deep voice he used to present people, Mush said: “May I present Lady Hannah; the kingdom’s head lady-in-waiting.”

This is, of course, not what he said. There was a specific and far fancier title attributed to Hannah’s role. All kingdoms had specific and fancy titles for such women. If this was France, Hannah would have been the Surintendante de la Maison de la Rein. If this was Italy, she would have been the Dama di Onore. If this was Germany, she would have been the Oberhofmeisterin. If the kingdom had been the centre of the Byzantine Empire, she would have been the Zoste Patrikia. If this was England, she would have been the First Lady of the Bedchamber—or maybe the Chamberlain if they took in the actualities of her job and stopped being so fussy for a moment. Whatever title she did have has now been lost to time and disinterest, so we will just refer to her as Hannah and comfort ourselves with the knowledge that whatever her title had been it never lived up to her.

Hannah was a complex and nuanced woman. That being said, there are really only five things about her that are important to keep in mind when trying to comprehend her person.

The first thing is that she was well aware that her current appearance had an expiration date. She knew that she would one day wake up to find that her hair had gone completely white. That was what had happened to her mother and to her grandmother and to her great grandmother and her great great grandfather and to every other redhead in her family tree—everyone else gradually went bald. She treated the day as one might treat winding a jack-in-the-box—there was a certain level of anticipation that built the longer time went on but the result was harmless so there wasn’t any fear attached to it. And this way she had a solid excuse to not bother with all the faffing she always found bothersome. So, with the excuse of this menial unspecified countdown, Hannah ensured that her personal appearance was always exactly at the standard required of her position—no lower, no higher, and with little flourish or personality.

The second thing is that she was exactly average height. She did not know that. No one else knew that. But if you calculate the arithmetic mean everyone’s height across time, it would be exactly Hannah’s height to the 1/256th inch. This is perhaps not actually very important but it is interesting.

The third thing is that at almost all times she was squinting at someone. This was because many people asked her stupid questions. Her squinting had two forms. The first was when she screwed up her whole face with the force of it, so that it looked like she had just bit into a very sour lemon. These squints followed someone asking her a stupid question she had not expected. The second was when her brows furrowed, her lip curled, and her mouth hung open. These squints followed someone asking her a stupid question which had been asked repeatedly and which, even hearing it for the fifth or seventeenth time, boggled her for the dearth of competency it demonstrated.

The fourth thing is that she said what was on her mind. This, combined with the prior point, meant that she spent almost as much time making sarcastic comments as she did squinting at people.

The fifth thing is that she was very ( _very_ ) good at her job.

As such, after she was introduced, she squinted (the lemony one), tilted her head, and said: “Name and purpose”, even though she had already been provided with both.

Sarah squared her shoulders and said: “Sarah Jacobs. I am to be the Princess’s new lady-in-waiting.”

Her squint hid it well, but Hannah was immediately startled by how pretty Sarah was (the Count had made only a passing mention of this in his letters) and how confident her tone was (the Count had not mentioned this at all in his letters). Then, seeing as Hannah was a professional, she righted herself and looked Sarah over. She took in the dirt stains on her hem. She took in the ornate embroidery that decorated her collar and noticed that it was done with cheap cotton thread. She took in how her hair was pinned up in the popular style but was done using three-strand plaits rather than four. She took in how Sarah was wearing heeled boots even though she was already well above average height. She took in her complete lack of even feigned demureness.

“You’ve never been out of the country a day in your life, have you?” she asked.

“Until quite recently, no,” Sarah answered, “but I am smart and hardworking and–”

“I’m sure you are,” Hannah interrupted, “but I need specifics. How’s your math? Penmanship? Organization? Discretion? Ability to suss out plots?”

“Very good when applied to practical problems and passable for hypothetical calculations. Always legible, sometimes elegant. Very good. Very good. _Very_ good.”

“We’ll see. Do you have any experience managing budgets?”

“Yes. I ran a small business back in my village.”

“Thank god,” Hannah said with a relieved sigh. “If I have to teach one more grown adult how to file an expense report I’m going to quit; I swear I will quit.”

“Is there a specific format you use for expense reports?” Sarah asked. “Do you have established guidelines or any examples I can study?”

“You are my new favourite,” Hannah said. “Alright, Lady Sarah Jacobs. Tour time.”

With that, Hannah turned around and went back through the castle gates, walking at a steady clip.

Mush gave Sarah a grin and two thumbs up, then quickly went back to being very intimidating. Sarah took a deep breath, then used her advantageously long stride to catch up to Hannah without having to jog.

It was a good thing she did because the tour had already begun.

“–must have already seen Master Charlie’s workshop and the Barracks. You were just waiting in the entry hall,” Hannah explained as the door opened for them, “this is the transitory hall,” she motioned with a wave at the smaller room they’d entered. “and this–” she continued straight ahead through the largest archway into another smaller room, which had a few tables and chairs, as well as a fireplace flanked by twin tapestries “–is the waiting room. The Queen’s chapel is through there, and this–” she made a sharp left, into a long high-ceilinged room “–is the great hall. Princess Katherine is occasionally expected to serve in Court so that’s where that will be. Most feasts are held there, but some are in the ballroom.”

Sarah took in all she could— the large windows which allowed sunlight to stream into the room, the long tables and benches that were arranged to form rows, the raised dais on the far end, on which there was a grand table with many chairs, at the centre of which was a throne,—but Hannah was once again on the move.

Sarah hustled after her to keep up, as her guide led her back through the rooms and then turned left, through the other archway in the transitory hall, to the main staircase, narrating all the while.

“This is the main staircase—it is the public one, I will show you the private stairs later.”

She said all this while lifting her skirts and quickly climbing up the steps. Sarah lifted hers too, and skipped every second step in order to make up for lost time. They reached the next landing, at while point—in a single motion—Hannah dropped her skirt with one hand, reached into a hidden pocket with another, pulled out a key, unlocked and opened the door, and stepped through. In that time, Sarah caught up and hastily entered after her.

“This is the living quarters,” she said. The room was largely taken up by a table in the centre, lined with chairs, all empty. “This is the main council room. Through there–” she pointed to the arched doorway to her right as she began to open the one on the left “–is the private dining room. And here–” she held open the door “–is the solar.”’

Sarah followed her into the delightfully warm room, which was roughly equivalent to a living room except twenty times more opulent.

It was also, unlike the previous room, occupied.

“’lo Hannah!” piped the lone occupant—a short coltish youth with a gap-toothed grin. It was hard to fully discern their other features as they were currently hanging upside-down in the armchair. “Who’s this?”

“New lady-in-waiting,” Hannah said. “Sarah, Smalls. Smalls, Sarah.”

“Hiya!” Smalls said. They righted themself, straightened their saffron-yellow dress, and did a perfect curtsy. “I’m the ward!”

“They’re the child of the King’s second cousin, a prodigious poet, an absolute layabout, and not to be allowed to cavort with the guards unless you want a shoe full of porridge,” Hannah said fondly.

Smalls grinned, once again revealing the gap between their front teeth. “I’m a menace to polite society!”

“Only when goaded into mischief. They’re usually perfectly lovely. Enough chatting, though. Come along.” With that Hannah turned around and walked off.

“It was a pleasure to meet you,” Sarah said as she hastened to follow.

“Good luck!” Smalls called after her.

Sarah caught up at the staircase. “That door leads to a smaller council room,” Hannah was saying, pointing to the door opposite the one they re-entered from, as she climbed the stairs, “and up here…”

They climbed until they reached the next landing, at which point Hannah once again opened the door with startling efficiency. The door opened out to an l-shaped hall towards the right. Hannah walked down it, the click of her shoes echoing. “This floor is just bedrooms. King and Queen that way,” she pointed at the heavy wood door to the left, “noble relations to the right,” she pointed to the doors that they were passing, “if there is anything good in the world this will be for the princess’s betrothed,” she patted that door, “and here,” she stopped at the door closest to the end of the hall “is the Princess’s room.”

Hannah opened the door. Sarah had a moment to see a table and a bed before the door was shut once more. “She’s in her office.”

Hannah led on. This time, though, instead of going up the main stairs, she just pointed up and said “that way to the ballroom—it’s a multi-purpose room otherwise. No idea why it’s all the way up there. Well, they said it was something to do with support beams and such. Anyways, through here…” she opened the door on the other side of the landing, “is the second tower.”

The door opened to reveal another staircase, leading up in a circle, and another door.

“That’s my room,” Hannah explained, already climbing. She pointed at the doors as they passed them, saying: “this is Lady Medda’s room. You’ll meet her later. This was Lady Adela’s room. She’s gone back to her father’s tower—poor man got suddenly and violently ill. Guest room. Guest room. And here–” Hannah finally stopped on the fifth landing “–is your room.”

She opened the door. Sarah had a moment to see a table and a bed before the door was shut once more. “Upstairs is another solar. Come now, we must introduce you to the Princess.”

Sarah sucked in a heavy breath, hiked up her skirts, and followed once more.

She trailed after Hannah back down the tower stairs, into the main stairs, down to the main floor, across the transitory hall to another archway Sarah had not noticed that was directly across from the staircase, through a long hall, turned right, where Hannah opened the door to reveal.

More stairs.

Now, Sarah was a very active young lady. However, no amount of climbing trees and running around town could have prepared her for this level of aerobic exercise.

Nevertheless, she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, fanned herself, and followed Hannah up.

“There are four floors in the central tower,” Hannah called down, forgetting that she had not yet told Sarah they were climbing up the central tower. “Top is the King’s private office—don’t go there. Below that there’s another sitting room and below that is a guest room—you shouldn’t have to go in either. And here we are,” she stopped and waited for Sarah to meet her on the landing. She then turned, fixed Sarah’s hair, twisted the waist on the bodice of Sarah’s waist until it was straight, then tugged it down until it was flat, and then took a handkerchief out of yet another hidden pocket and dabbed at Sarah’s face. Satisfied, she took out another key, inserted it into the lock, and said: “The Princess’s office.”

She opened the door. Sarah stepped through.

The whirlwind tour ended in a room that looked like it had been hit by a whirlwind.

Books were open on every flat surface, including the floor. Leaves of paper were strewn. One window was open, so that the sounds of the street below could be heard. The other window was covered with the curtain, so that the bright sunlight of the late morning was not shining on the desk. The humongous desk. The unbelievably messy desk. The empty desk.

“Hannah? That you?” a voice called from behind the humongous, messy, empty desk. “Just a second; I dropped my quill.”

Hannah sighed. “My royal highness…remember how I told you about the new courtier this morning?”

“Right!” A head popped up. “Hello!”

Hannah sighed again. “May I present Princess Katherine, Duchess of the Eastern Mountains, Daughter of his majesty, King Joseph.”

Sarah curtsied, then looked up to finally look upon the Princess.

Ever since her birth, rumours about the Princess had traveled across the Kingdom. It was said that her hair was the deep auburn of the changing leaves—as though autumn had strung its very nature through her tresses. It was said that she was as pale as porcelain, with cheeks always flushing a bright rose. It was said that her countenance was cunning yet kind, that her manners were unparalleled.

Sarah had checked these rumours with the guards during their trip. Sniper had agreed that her hair was auburn, but snorted at the idea of autumn and leaves and stuff— “It’s hair, Sarah. Let’s not go making it more than that.” Mush had squinted at her about the porcelain bit— “Um… I mean she could use some more sun, but that’s because she doesn’t get out much.” Blink shrugged at the mention of the Princess’s countenance— “She’s nice enough. Wouldn’t want to cross her, but I’m not planning too so it’s all good.” She had not bothered to ask them any further questions.

As such, Sarah expected to be introduced to a young woman about her age and of about twenty-times more political importance who had fair skin, rosy cheeks, and auburn hair, and who would treat her with a reasonable amount of politeness.

This was all relatively accurate. She was indeed pale. Her hair was brownish-red. She was flushed, but that was because all the blood had flown to her head as she looked for her lost writing implement. The rumours seemed fair enough.

What the rumours failed to mention was that the Princess’s hair cascaded over her shoulders in glossy curls. The rumours failed to mention that she was chubby and petite. The rumours failed to mention that her features were astonishingly girlish, that her eyes were round and keen. The rumours had, of course, implied that the Princess was beautiful. Sarah assumed it was an exaggeration. It was not. The Princess was well and truly lovely. Arguably stunning. Definitely the prettiest girl Sarah had ever seen.

Unbeknownst to Sarah, she was the prettiest girl Princess Katherine had ever seen.

As such, Sarah was quite surprised when the reportedly elegant Princess promptly choked on her spit the moment that they made eye contact.

“Oh my god,” Hannah muttered. The other two people in the room did not hear her muttering, since the Princess was coughing violently and Sarah had promptly rushed to help her.

“No, keep going,” Sarah coached, patting the Princess on the back. “Coughing is good. Just get it out.”

Doing as instructed, the Princess coughed some more. Once finished, the Princess wiped the tears off her cheeks, took a careful drink of her tea and looked up at Sarah with very wide eyes.

Very wide very light brown eyes. The colour of light shining through amber crystals. There were a few tears still caught on her lashes. There was a dusting of freckles at her temples.

“Right,” the Princess said, voice hoarse. “Sorry, who are you?”

“She’s your new lady-in-waiting,” Hannah said.

At her voice, Sarah remembered that it was not particularly proper to stand beside the Princess with your hand brushing the space between her shoulder blades, able to feel the heat of her body through the silk of her dress. She folded her hands in front of her and circled the desk to stand beside Hannah.

The Princess looked across the table at Hannah, then at Sarah, then back to Hannah. “Her?”

“Yes,” Sarah answered. “My name is Sarah Jacobs.”

“Oh. Sarah. Good,” she said. She looked at Hannah. “Lady-in-waiting?”

“Yes,” Hannah said. “Your last personal attendant left three months ago. You encouraged her to pursue her dream of studying international relations and she entered the university with your recommendation.”

“Right. Shit, that’s right! I still need to read her draft…” She started digging through the papers on her desk, so that two of the stacks were turned to piles. Then she looked up again. “Wait, so I haven’t had a lady-in-waiting for three months?”

“No,” Hannah answered. “You’ve had me. But I’m overworked. Now you have Sarah.”

“Oh. Okay,” the Princess said. She looked between the two of them. “And you told me all this earlier?”

“Not completely. The Count wrote to me a few days ago,” Hannah said. “The letter arrived yesterday evening.”

The Princess rolled her eyes. “Ah.”

Hannah nodded, agreeing whole-heartedly.

“Well…” the Princess said, “when do you start?”

“I need a few days to help my family settle in the city,” Sarah said, “so I would appreciate having a few days myself. I have drafted a proposal for my schedule, if you would like?”

The Princess blinked. “Sure.”

Sarah took it out of her pocket and passed it to the Princess. She took it without looking away from Sarah’s face. Then she flicked her eyes across it. Then she smiled, wide and toothy.

“Well, if you perform all your duties as well as you put together a schedule you may prove to be the best lady-in-waiting in history.”

Sarah’s chest tightened and lurched and did a whole manner of things she had never felt it do before.

“Right…” Sarah said. “So I’ll just…?”

“Sure,” the Princess said. “Oh! And before you leave, you should know I’m not big on… titles. So please just call me Katherine when we’re on our own.”

“Alright,” Sarah said. “Katherine.”

Unbeknownst to Sarah, Katherine’s chest tightened and lurched and did a whole manner of things she had never felt it do before.

..........

Far away and nearby, love and uncertainty did what—for universal concepts—approximates to a high-five.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think. You can also find me as benafee on tumblr. As always, I cannot promise or commit to an update schedule but I can promise and commit to doing my best.


End file.
